Chapter II
Malik watched his breath hang in the air like a ragged cloud. Today was particularly frigid, but beneath his furs he was sweltering. He pressed his back to the nearest tree and listened. He thought he heard the soft crackle of moccasins upon ice, but when he risked a glance toward the sound he saw no one. Sound could play devious tricks out here, bounding along the lake's surface for miles on end. Anik would have considered that when picking this spot for the devious testing ground. The frozen grove, Anik liked to call it.
Malik craned his neck and looked for hints of ambush from above. The icy canopy shone with a golden glow, every icebranch and weeping leaf filled with a brilliance that was almost blinding. He'll try to use that to his advantage. Twice already Sifu Anik had accosted him, knocking Malik's feet out from under him and then vanishing back into the frozen grove without any sign he'd been there at all.
Malik was wary of stepping too close to the trees. His sifu could be encased within any of them, holding his breath within a thick frozen trunk for minutes on end, waiting for his hapless student to wander into the trap. Whatever his method, when Anik struck, it would be sudden and silent. He held his breath, listening. Even the slightest noise could mean the difference between…
There it is again. Malik peeled away from the nearest tree and peered upward. A few flecks of loosened snow wafted in the breeze. Anik was up there somewhere.
Malik would have to move fast. Sifu Anik was surely positioning for a third and final ambush. Three strikes was always his limit, three chances to prove you'd learned something. Malik pressed his palms together and raised them up past his left shoulder before bringing them back down in a fierce arc.
The topmost branches of the frozen tree cracked like a chandelier buckling under its excess. Blades of ice rained down to shatter upon the lake's glassy surface. Malik ignored the debris, careful for a glimpse of sealskin coat, a loose moccasin, anything. Distracted as he was, he did not notice the gloved hand rising up from the lake beneath him until it had been too late.
Malik fell hard, the ice jamming up under his chin. His teeth rang like brass bells in his head. He tasted blood. Pushing himself up, Malik spat out a red loogie. When he looked down at the frozen surface, he yelped out in sheer surprise.
Anik grinned up at him from beneath the ice. Bubbles began to fulminate from the corners of his mouth. The frozen surface of the lake began to waste away like salt to frost. "Mind all of your surroundings," he chided, once he'd emerged. He reached out with both arms, as if to give a big hug.
Whips of thin water lashed around Malik's legs and arms. He tried to struggle against them, but it was useless. Anik's control would not be questioned. The hole beneath his feet now gaped wide as a hungry whalerus, eager to devour. There was a shock of cold, and then he was in the water, sinking like a stone. He reached up past his head, but the surface of the lake had already sealed shut. Malik began to sink away from the gray light, down to the cold, calm dark.
He woke up next to a roaring campfire. Dusk had fallen, and the sapphire sky was overflowing with stars. Malik curled himself up into a knot and tugged himself tight within his parka. Someone had been considerate enough to pull the water from his clothes, but a cruel chill still harbored in his chest. It took the better half of an hour before the shivers worked themselves out.
He hoisted himself up to a sitting position and rubbed at the sore spot under his arm. His classmates sat in a wide arc on the far end of the fire, split off into cliques of twos and threes. Malik counted their flamelit faces. Like himself, they were all cradling some form of wound. He counted thirteen; a little under half the class.
Malik was surprised at their number. While his master had never been one to hold back on his lessons, today's training had been especially aggressive. As per usual, Sifu Anik had sent home those who had been skilled or lucky enough to make it through with only minor scrapes and bruises. Those with more serious injuries—sprains, torn muscles, the occasional broken bone—they would have to tough out their wounds and wait for his daughter Luava. Most of the class was honest and straightforward when seeking the relief of her healing arts. Invariably though, there was at least one horny chump who stuck around simply to feel her tender touch.
She'd always had that effect on other boys. Even Malik could see why. Her eyes were blue as a springtime sea. Tall and lithe, she liked to wear her hair in a cute bob, save for the pair of beaded tassels that hung just above the chinline. Truly her father's daughter, Luava was already shaping up to be the water tribe's most talented acolyte healer. Soon enough she'd be fielding an endless stream of suitors begging her to wear their necklace.
He spotted her through the flames. She was leaning in over a pair of bloody-nosed students, her hands hovering over their faces, each in turn. It made Malik shiver, though he knew he wasn't cold. No, he'd always felt a tingle up his spine when he watched her at work. Her skill, her tenderness, these things were soothing to witness.
"Well, well. And here I thought you weren't into girls."
Heat rushed into Malik's face. He shifted his gaze quickly away from Luava, but that only made him look more guilty. The blood was already in the water, and Unnaq could smell it.
"I knew it. You are sweet on her, aren'tcha?" Unnaq curled his upper lip to reveal a gaptooth sneer. "Like she'd ever date a seal pup like you." He gestured with a limp wrist as he hobbled on his remaining good foot. His other leg dragged behind, cutting a shallow channel through the pebbled beach. Luava had done a good job with the ankle splint; the whale's jawbone would keep the broken bone snug and steady.
Unnaq lurched past Malik's campfire toward his ride home. The palanquin was serviced by a quartet of men who bore the gaudy azure colors of Unnaq's family crest. They knelt in unison at the young master's approach, an awkward task considering the skating blades they wore on the soles their sandals. The palanquin tilted to one side as Unnaq hefted himself inside. He tugged open a hatch window and stuck his head out. "I asked her to stop by my place later," he said, shouting. "Me and her, all alone. Dream about that, seal pup."
From within the bejeweled box came the impatient ringing of a brass bell. The four servants rose in unison. Scraping the metal blades upon the soles of their sandals, the quartet was soon moving at tremendous speeds across the frozen lake.
Unnaq couldn't be more wrong. Malik wasn't interested in being with Luava. His needs went deeper than that; shameful truths that he had to keep to himself. His silence was his cradle, it kept him safe. Silence was the key to a normal life.
His favorite dreams far from normal. Like the ones when he lived a day in Luava's skin. He got to wear the same sleek clothes, do his hair up in the same cute bob… waltzing through the capital, shameless and proud.
In those dreams he undressed his life's lies. He could be fearless. Who was there to be afraid of? Father, for all his overbearing control, could not control Malik's dreams.
How wondrous were those dreams; gossiping with the girls, chatting about everything and anything; dodging the flirtatious boys that hid around each corner; ambivalence toward the Gentlemen who were stealing glances.
Malik would like to say that he didn't crave such attention, even knowing that Luava hated it. He couldn't help it though. he loved feeling this way. The dreams were always amazing, and they felt amazing because they felt so right. There was no shame in dream. Shame always returned with the dawn.
"Well, hello." A hand cupped hold of Malik's shoulder. As Luava leaned down she she scooped up a single log from the pile and chucked it into the dwindling fire where it sent up a belch of sparks.
"I see you're in no hurry," Malik said.
Luava drew up beside him and squatted, balancing on her haunches. "Triage, my friend. I've noticed that Dad likes to take it easy on you." She undid the laces on her knee-high boots. "Besides, he doesn't usually leave me with this many patients. Rare mood today, I guess. Turned out bad for you guys."
"I'd hate to see his normal mood, then." Malik tugged a lock of dark hair from his eyes and tucked it back into his top knot. "Today seemed as bad as any other. But you'd know him best." He rubbed at the sore spot on his jaw.
Luava popped open a shutter on her night lamp and held it between them. "Hush. Let me see what he did this time."
She stared at the sides of his face and at the underside of his chin, her eyebrows scrunched in concentration. "Shouldn't take much," she mumbled, mostly to herself. Luava placed the lamp by her feet. Biting the tip of her mitt, she tugged her right hand free. She unstoppered the flask on her belt and wafted out enough water to coat her upraised palm like a fingerless glove. Her lips moved in silent prayer. An opalescent nimbus of blue light soon radiated from her liquid gloves.
Luava dragged her fingers across the sorest spots; over the sharp cheekbones, across the chin, under the jaw. He melted into her touch, so soft that it set his scalp tingling. Her skills disarmed him. They always did. He rubbed his hands together and wondered if his touch could ever be half as tender.
The ephemeral glow faded from her fingertips. Malik wiggled his jaw from side to side. "Where would I be without you?"
"Lock-jawed and hungry," Luava said. With a whip of her fingers the water flew free. It did not fall, but hung in the air at arms length, like a floating, coagulant snake. She unhooked her hip flask and swept it through the air from right to left, scooping up the weightless water in a single motion. "You owe me lunch," she said, as an afterthought.
Malik stuck out his tongue. "That's so not fair. When am I ever gonna get a chance to save your butt, for a change?"
"As if I'd even have the time to get into trouble." Luava turned toward the capital. She looked tired. "City's not getting smaller. Every day there are more and more people seeking a healer's help. Too many, in fact, and not enough of us to go around." Her attention went back to her laces until they were undone. She plopped down in front of Malik and stuck the pads of her boots in his face. "You wouldn't want to taste my cooking, anyway."
He gripped the heels and held tight as she fought to liberate her her feet. She quickly tamped them down upon the cold round stones and watched the steam rise from between her wiggling toes. "This is the first real break I've had today," she said. "I helped a mother bring her newborn into the world. I treated a whole whaler crew for gum rot. An elder needed comforting before his journey past the Boreal Veil, and that was all just this afternoon." Luava wilted a bit. She craned her head toward the sky and stared up at the stars. "There's still Unnaq's broken ankle. And after that, I'm due back at the hospice. Hooray, me."
"Unnaq?" Malik licked his lips and made a wet puckering sound. " Ooh la la. He was bragging about how he'd coaxed you back to his place, you know."
"Yeah? Well he's never been good at keeping his big mouth shut," Luava replied. "And it's not for the reason you think."
"Well, that goes without saying."
"Malik!" She gave a playful kick to his shin. "Don't be mean. He may be a bit bit rough around the edges, but…"
"Rough around the edges? He's a fat bully—AND he's the worst bender I've ever seen. I don't know why he doesn't just drop out, find a bending teacher more suited to his size."
Luava shook her head. Her gaze lowered from the stars down toward the fire's orange embers. "You think Unnaq wants to be in a class like this?" she asked. "There are other bending masters far more linen than my Dad, but you already knew that. Unnaq's only here because of his father. Bragging rights, you see. Some fathers think it's a point of pride to train their kids under the harshest bender in the tribe. Sound familiar?"
He watched a lick of flame dance upon the burning log. She had him there, and she knew it. "Yeah," he admitted. "I guess it does."
"I thought it might."
Malik was suddenly desperate to change the subject. "Seriously though, I don't know how you keep up. You're always out there, working, working, working. Where d'you store all that energy?"
"My love handles." Luava pinched at her sides.
Malik receded his chin. "Love handles, right."
"It's no big secret," Luava said. "I just wake up every day with the knowledge that I'll meet obstinance. Acceptance helps me focus. For instance, I like to know when Dad's training lessons are gonna keep me up late, like tonight for example. I'll ask him what the day's training will entail. Usually he ignores me, figuring I'd snitch." She leaned in close, as if to tell a secret. "Today he didn't."
Malik sat up straight. None of Anik's students knew much about him or the private life he lived outside of class. Curiosity gnawed at him. "What'd he say?"
Luava leapt to her feet and stiffened her back straight as a board. She clasped her arms behind her back, leaned forward until her face was looming over his. She spoke in a rigid growl. "Today they will be lessoned in failure. I will begin by exhausting their inner chi through a rigorous streaming regimen. Once their energy has been sapped, I will submit them to exhaustion. After exhaustion, defeat." The imitation of her father was uncanny.
Malik pulled his mitts away from the fire and tucked them beneath his armpits. He ignored the dull pain under his arm. "It's not meant to be fair," he replied, in a crude imitation of his own. "But through the manner of their failure, I'll teach them a deal more about themselves than any mere exercise!"
"Good imitation of Dad," she giggled. "Don't let him hear that."
Malik joined her in giggling, and soon enough the giggles had boiled over into full-bore laughter. The dull ache in Malik's side grew sharper with each intake of air. Ignore it, he told himself. It was rare enough when he could say he was happy. and when he was with Luava he was happy. He wasn't going to let a little pain get in the way of that.
She squinted one eye at him. "You all right? Did I miss a spot?"
"No." He kicked at a pale blue pebble with his moccasin. "I'm fine."
"Liar," she said, and clapped him on either shoulder.
"Ow!" He winced.
Luava crossed her arms. "Show me."
Malik shirked his parka, wincing as he did so. He lifted his arm to show her the bruise. No words were exchanged as she inspected the red-and-black splotch that ran down the side of his chest. It was obvious the bruise troubled her.
"This isn't from today," she said, the mirth gone from her eyes.
Malik did not reply. What was there to say? There was no point in lying. What could he tell her that hadn't already been said a hundred times before? By now she would have heard it all. It was pointless to dwell on the unchangeable. That would only renew the hurt.
Luava drew him into a long hug. "Oh, Malik."
He buried his face in the fur of her collar and closed his eyes. By now the other students had departed, and the frozen shoreline held a reverent silence. The log upon the fire started to hiss. A crisp cold wind blew through her hair, through his. For a brief moment he let her shoulder blot out the rest of the world.
She could have siphoned away the pain. With a flick of her wrist, Luava could dismiss it all. The thought was tempting, but any relief she provided would be temporary; as soon as Malik arrived home it would all be undone. Father always demanded that he disrobe after each bending class, so that he might witness firsthand the damage Sifu Anik's lessons had dealt. When he was not pleased with the number of bruises on display, Father would add a few of his own.
"Mark each one," he'd say, when he was satisfied. "A man endures his pains, boy. Remember that, since you seem so keen to forget."
Reminders they had become. Thanks to Father, or perhaps in spite of him, Malik learned instead to view his welts as something more. They'd become a symbol, a superficial affront to the truth that lay beneath his skin, far beyond the reach of mere bruises.
He drew back gently from Luava's embrace. His attention turned north, past the lake and over the distant mountains. The sky was shrouded in a curtain of shifting emeralds and pinks and reds. The colors had only grown more vibrant with the new moon approaching. "So peaceful," Malik mumbled.
He saw Luava's face and knew she understood. Her own mother had crossed over the boreal veil when she was still a small child, and she had no memory of her. For Malik, the pain was closer at hand. Some nights he thought he could hear her whisper to him from beyond the boreal veil, encouraging him to trudge onward. If not for his own sake, then at least for his sister's.
Luava leaned in and planted a soft kiss on his cheek. Malik smiled. He would never get tired of her unrequited affection. How could he? If it hadn't been for her playful flirting, he might have never found the courage to confide in her at all. They'd known each other longer than either of them could remember. She'd earned the right to know the truth of what was going on inside of him. Not just the truth of his feelings for her, either, but all of it, everything that he'd bottled up, everything he'd ever wanted to say since he'd learned the difference between girls and boys, and found that he was something else. Something different.
They sat there a while, huddled together amongst the frozen desolation. The boreal veil continued to shift, vibrant greens and purples melting into deeper shades of indigo and violet. Every few seconds A falling star would streak overhead.
A voice from beyond the firelight shattered the fragile reverie. "Aren't you needed elsewhere?" it asked.
Malik's smile curdled. He stood and gave the perfunctory bow. How long had he been standing there? Was he eavesdropping on us? He was almost tempted to demand some answers, but resisted the impulse.
Luava did not. "You said you'd stop sneaking up on us," she said. She dusted the grit from her furs and walked barefoot toward her boots. "And I earned a break, thank you very much. After all the hurt you dished out today, I should start charging a fee."
"If your work displeases you, say the word and I'll send for someone else." Sifu Anik stepped into the firelight, the creases of his thin face etched in shadow. "Though I don't think either of you would want that. And I was not sneaking. Is it my fault that your ears were not open?"
"Oh no, not that again." Luava wheeled on her father, hands on her hips. "I'm not one of your students."
Malik stood stiff as a statue, worried that his friend's audacity might somehow rub off on him by mere proximity. He stared in silence, rapt by her boldness.
"Would that you could be, daughter. It would be easier on this old man's heart."
"Oh, please. Your heart's as hale as a whale."
"You misunderstand me," Anik said, sighing. He waved a hand through the air dismissively. "Regardless, I did not come to trouble you." He looked toward Malik with eyes of ice. "I came for him."
Malik bit the inside of his cheeks. A shiver ran down his spine. Luava's expression fell somewhere between confusion and concern, but for all her impudence, she knew better than to inject herself between her father and one of his students. "You go get some rest," he said. "We'll need it for the festival tomorrow."
Luava shrugged. "Fine, fine." Securing her things, she began to walk in the direction of home. She shouted over her shoulder as she trudged over loose stones. "Go easy on him, Dad. Otherwise I might forget how to make Mom's seal n' scallop soup."
Malik watched while she made for the lake's perimeter, stone and snow crunching beneath her boots. Soon he could only see her glowing night lamp, bouncing and bobbing with each sure step.
"Walk with me," Anik said. It was a tone that brooked no argument. He walked down from the shoreline and stepped onto the frozen surface of the lake, marching toward the copse of trees he himself had raised. The lake warbled with the caving of distant ice and the hollow echo of footsteps.
Malik could not help but worry. As they continued to walk, no words spoken between them, his worry only worsened. His body broke out in a cold sweat. Does he know? While Malik did not doubt Luava's trustworthiness, there was no knowing what his sifu might have overheard. Anik was as strict a bending master as they came; rigid, conservative, fully devoted to the old traditions. When it came to men and women, the dictates were clear; martial waterbending was a man's duty, healing a woman's. To suggest otherwise was unheard of. If Anik ever perceived the truth in Malik's heart, he would be forced to expel him, to his father's undying shame and rage.
They arrived at the edge of the frozen grove. Malik had not been in an admiring mood when he stood here earlier, but looking upon the trees now he could see the intricacy and attention Anik had paid to the finer details. He'd apparently been up before dawn moulding and crafting the thing, tree by tree.
Malik recognized them as a variety of plum blossom, a flowering tree common to the Archipelagoes. Sifu Anik was rumored to have lived and trained in the Fire Nation for some time. Malik could believe it. It lent a hint to the severity of his training.
Thick tendrils of ice had been raised from the lake, tangled together to form mighty trunks. Anik had festooned every wending branch with countless frozen droplets, each one pinched and pulled between thumb and forefinger to give the look of veiny, oblong leaves. Even by starlight the canopy was beautiful to behold.
The ground was growing more and more tumultuous, the further they intruded into the grove. Lumps and mounds had been laid to emulate actual earthen stones—devious tripping hazards meant to throw the students off as they approached the center of the grove. Mounds of dirt, knotted roots, the choke of trees, these things were strange to Northerners, and Sifu Anik prided himself in his exotic challenges.
The trees opened up to a meadow bathed in drowsy moonlight. A mighty pillar stood in the center, perhaps fifteen feet in diameter and taller than Malik could guess. The goal for each student had been the same: find a way through the frozen grove and touch the pillar. By the look of the pristine snowpack that blanketed the meadow floor, no one had made it this far. "Sifu, if I may…"
"You may not," Anik said. Gripping Malik by the shoulder, they walked toward the pillar until it was close enough to kiss. A brief share of sunlight had marbled some of the surface, but otherwise the column remained pristine. From here Malik couldn't even see the top of it. It must have taken a tenth of the lake to raise such a thing.
"Be still," Sifu Anik said. He dug his feet into the snow, hunched his shoulders, and slapped his arms together. He then swept both arms down with an almost violent speed. The lake's surface sheered and cracked around their feet. Anik's concentration turned heavenwards. With palms cupped tight together, he began to gesticulate in a mixing, circular motion. The ground lurched beneath them, and then they were blasting up the side of the cylinder on a slab of frozen lake. It felt like they were standing atop a mighty geyser.
Up top, the wind's temper was fouler. A chill cut into Malik, and he cinched the cords of his hood tight. He'd never been so high in his life, and his knees felt week. He didn't dare to look down.
Anik stepped off from the wedge of ice, calm as if he were standing on solid ground. His braided hair flew about his head.
Malik fell to his hands and knees, fearful that one wayward tempest might send him over the edge. Shaking, he crawled forward toward the dead center of the platform. There he stayed.
Anik snorted with derision. He casually waved his right arm, summoning up a wall that went up to his waist. "There," he said. "Better?"
"Thank you, Sifu." Malik gathered up enough courage to stand and join his master. The crescent cliffs of the Capital sprawled to the south. Glimmering sequins of light rimmed the edge, fair and final warning of the impending five hundred foot drop straight down into the city itself.
Father would be down there somewhere, relishing in his whip's crack. The hats he wore for the new moon celebration had grown too numerous to count. He'd wax each morning on how alive he felt, filled with purpose. "One day the responsibility will be yours, my son. Then you will see for yourself." Even when smiling, Father bore enough menace to turn Malik's blood cold.
Anik cleared his throat. "You were wounded today," he said.
"It was unwise to neglect the lake beneath me, Sifu. It won't happen again."
"I'm not speaking of the wounds you suffered by my hand. I speak of the ones you brought with you. Pain was etched in your every footstep, from the moment you entered my grove. Were it not for that, I'd have lashed you by the ankle like I did with the others."
Malik smirked. So he was in the trees, he thought. That is, until it was my turn.
Anik's brow furrowed. "Your wounds. I would know how you came upon them."
No. I do not need to tell him everything. "Sifu, with respect, I'd rather not say."
Anik's mouth thinned until it was no more than a dark line between his beard. "Very well. I see I must speak with your father again, in that case."
Oh please, no. "If Father disciplines me, it is only because I have given him reason to do so."
"I see," Anik said—and slapped him.
Malik's cheek stung with heat. Compared to Father, the slap was almost affectionate, though the shock of being struck made up for the slack. A wave of confusion smashed into him. "Sifu?"
Anik ignored the plea. "And just now? Have you given me reason to do so?"
Malik opened his mouth to speak, but the words only tripped out. "P—please, I…"
Anik slapped him again, harder this time. "Don't stutter, child. And stop staring at my face. Our actions are read in our arms and legs, not in our expressions."
"Master, I don't under…"
"Our arms and legs," Anik repeated. He swung his hand a third time.
Without a thought, Malik reacted. Darting his hand up to his master's wrist, he clenched and gave a quick, wrenching twist. Anik grunted in pain. Malik let go at once. Idiot. You are such an idiot. "Forgive me," he begged, falling to one knee. "I did not know myself just now."
Anik rubbed his wrist, arching an eyebrow. "Indeed? I daresay it goes deeper than that."
Malik bowed his head, eyes closed tight.
"Rise, child. You were right to stop me." Anik reached down and pulled Malik up by his meager forearms. "Your father thinks you are frail. My wrist would argue otherwise. He underestimates you, Malik, always has, and if your decisiveness is a surprise to you, then think of how much it will surprise him. Keep that in mind."
Malik looked at his hands. Easy enough for him to say. "The strictures forbid it."
"So they do—and for good reason. Our tribe would not have come this far if the strongest of us exerted prowess over our ungifted brothers and sisters. But the strictures regard waterbending, do they not?" He gripped Malik's frail forearm and squeezed the meager bicep. "Tell me, when did I ever mention waterbending? Did the water bend my wrist?"
"No," Malik admitted. He wondered if his master knew what it was he was asking. It'll be easier to show him. He touched a gloved hand to his side and raised his parka. He made no effort to hide his pain this time. "These are from last week, after I'd decided to tell Father I was ready for the rites."
Anik's eyes grew wide when he saw the extent of Father's anger. "Tartok," he hissed, "you savage cur."
"He was furious that I'd brought it up," Malik said. "He told me I wasn't ready… told me it was his decision to make, not mine."
"Your brutish father knows far, far less than he thinks, I'll have you know." Anik narrowed his eyes and looked away from the bruises.
"I don't follow," Malik admitted. He lowered his parka.
"Then you can brush up on your tribal histories along with him. Once you did you'd recall that your father isn't the only one who can sponsor your passage into adulthood." He raised his chin and bunched his fingers into fists. "As your master, I reserve that privilege as well. And considering Tartok sought me out for your training, sought me out by name, I find it particularly galling that he would not consult me in this matter." Anik spoke with calculate menace. "If anyone brings dishonor to your family, it is your father, not you. He would do well to seek his own inner balance, and grant you peace enough to seek yours."
Malik's mouth hung open. He was worried he'd somehow misheard Anik's offer, and for a breath he was too scared to reply. "Are you saying you'll sponsor my passage, Sifu?"
Sifu Anik nodded. "I will. It is time you journeyed into adulthood."
Malik felt lightheaded. In a rash of spontaneity he leapt forward and clutched Sifu Anik in a hug. That was an error. The sudden change of fortunes had cheered him, but the dour look on Anik's face quickly sobered Malik. The rite of passage was a solemn thing, not to be taken lightly. He drew two steps back, pressed his hands together with fingers curled over fist, and bowed. "You honor me, Sifu. I will not disappoint you."
"I trust you won't," Anik said. He put a hand atop Malik's head and tousled it with a knowing smirk. Hiking up his thick fur coat around his neck, he glanced at the grove below. With palms pressed downward as if to brush the snow from his kneecaps, Sifu Anik went about unmaking his creation. The trees surrounding the pillar quickly withered and melted into gelatinous puddles. The tower itself was slowly sinking as well. While the ice directly beneath their feet remained firm, the column beneath soon destabilized.
It felt to Malik like they were balanced atop a soggy mound of whale fat, upon which they were slowly sinking. By the time they reached the frozen lake's surface, all that remained of the column and the frozen grove was a sheen of soft rime. A field of frost stretched around him in all directions. The boreal veil rippled anew in streaks of lapis and garnet. Far to the East, across the immutable tundra, a huge thunderhead gathered.
Anik saw the storm as well. He gave Malik a gentle push in the opposite direction, toward home. "Let's be off, then. I could use a hot bowl of broth after that frigid business beneath the ice."