Author's Note:
Many apologies, dear reader! It seems these Tuesday morning uploads are becoming just as common as Monday ones! I promise that the upload schedule is still for Mondays, and I'll try to be better about adhering to it. This chapter ended up undergoing sort of a late-process rewrite, so I was still wrapping that up this morning. Anyway, please enjoy! :)
xxx
Chapter Twenty-Four
The Arendanes discovered the existence of the Jotun tribe upon the north mountain during Cerendon Siguror's rule, some time around 986 AD. For many years, the two peoples lived peaceably in coexistence, their contact to each other limited by design. It was not until Balladon Siguror's rule three hundred years later that the peoples of Arendelle began to hunger for a conquest of the ice giants.
The History of Arendelle, 3rd ed.
Northern Foothills,
Arendelle
September 7th, 1843
Kristoff trudged up the muddy incline, choosing his path carefully so as not to slip. Trees were spaced ten feet or more apart in this part of the forest, and their roots spread deep rather than wide, so the constant rains had turned the northern foothills into a messy sludge. Kristoff was worried about the constant rain. He'd spent enough time in the wild to know that nature thrived upon a delicate balance. The rains would drown the scrub, so the rabbits and deer would starve. The wolves would be unable to find prey, so they'd move down the slopes of the mountain and start harrying farmers. Farmers would start shooting the wolves. The balance would be lost, maybe forever.
Kristoff adjusted his hood as he crested the hill and cast his gaze around the surrounding terrain. He hadn't been to the Jotun camp for… three years, now? He always told himself that he'd make his way back someday, but it there always seemed to be something more important on the horizon. The Jotun weren't a nomadic people, however, and even now Kristoff noticed a familiar cleft in an old oak tree that marked the edge of the ice giants' domain. He started to pick his way down the slope, careful not to slip.
Back in Arendelle, unpleasant days were on the horizon. The abrupt, brutal death of Father Jean-Baptiste Clement had cast a dark mood over the city. Anna was worried that the populace was growing close to panic. It certainly felt like a tinderbox, waiting for a single spark. Kristoff was worried to be abandoning the city during such a time, but really, what was he going to do about the impending disaster? If he wanted to help Arendelle, the best way to do it was to bring back a promise of aid from The Grandfather.
Kristoff scanned the trees. His old tracker's instincts were kicking in, and he could make out faint traces of a path in the distance. It was the sort of thing that took a practiced eye; even a skilled woodsman would have struggled to notice a broken branch here, scuffled undergrowth there, and construct a coherent narrative from it all. But Kristoff was hardly new to these wilds. In fact, there was something refreshing about being free from the city. It had always been stifling to him.
One day, after this was all over, he'd get Anna and their child to that cottage in the foothills. Then, he'd be living.
Kristoff started down the pathway. It forged a corridor through the forest, taking him deeper into the heart of the wood. Here, the canopy was thicker, and the rains filtered through only as an incessant pitter-patter of droplets tipped off of leaves. A twig snapped behind him, and he glanced over his shoulder. A doe crossed onto the trail, turning to gaze directly at him. It didn't seem frightened. Humans didn't make it this deep into the forests of the north mountains. The animal probably hadn't ever seen one before.
Kristoff turned and continued to walk, feeling himself grow more apprehensive with each passing moment. It bothered him. The Jotun weren't dangerous. At least, not the way that people tended to think they were. Yes, they could be rather unfriendly sometimes, but at the end of the day they tended to be pleasant once you got to know them. Knowing an ice giant long enough to get familiar with them was easier said than done, however. As far as Kristoff knew, he was the only human The Grandfather had ever allowed to live amongst them.
So why should he be nervous? After all, he knew them all by name. Something had changed during the last three years, though. He'd grown… soft. All this living among bluebloods.
There was a disturbance in the trees to his left. Unsubtle, which meant the giant was alarmed by his presence. Kristoff turned just as the massive creature stepped onto the path. Standing nearly eight feet tall and as thick as two large men, this particular giant was rather small among the Jotun. Humanoid, but with rough, mottled grey skin – almost like stone – and with thick, heavily braided hair, the giant wore simple clothing woven from hemp, and bore a spear far larger than one an infantryman could carry, slung across its back with a strap.
Kristoff recognized this particular giant.
"Puca?" He said, surprised. She'd grown so much since he'd last seen her.
"Kristoff?" She replied, her deep, inhuman voice raw with disbelief. Most of the Jotun could speak English, although they preferred to converse in their own tongue. Kristoff could understand the language, though he couldn't speak it. Too many of the tongue's phonemes required a 'multi-throated fricative' that was impossible for a human to reproduce. "We didn't think that you would ever come back!"
"Well, Puca, I –"
"The Grandfather told us that you'd want to live among the humans, once you'd found that girl, but Bjoldhhe always held out hope –" Puca said, referring to Bulda by her real name, rather than the anglicized one.
"I'm not back, Puca," Kristoff said, cutting her off with a pained wince. "I… The Grandfather is right. I live with the humans now."
Puca's face fell. Most humans weren't able to read emotions in the faces of the Jotun, but to Kristoff that seemed ridiculous. Their eyes were deep and expressive, each iris possessing a bright swirl of many colors at once.
"Oh," she said. "Why are you here, then?"
Kristoff was grateful for the chance to turn the conversation in another direction, and he began to walk again, in the direction of the Jotun camp. "I need to speak with The Grandfather. It's urgent."
Puca fell into step beside Kristoff. He'd forgotten in his time away from the giants how silently they managed to walk, given their formidable stature. Of the pair of them, walking side by side, he was probably the one making more noise.
"You're coming on behalf of the queen, then, aren't you?" Puca said, not bothering to hide the distrust in her voice. Centuries ago, several of Elsa's ancestors had attempted to enslave the Jotun. The giants had long memories, and a deep-seated distrust of the throne was passed down from generation to generation.
"On behalf of all of Arendelle," Kristoff replied. "And I can assure you that conquest is the last thing on our minds right now."
"Ah, but until you fully put it out of your minds, you are a threat to us," Puca said. "The Grandfather will grant you a meeting, Kristoff, if only because it is not our way to turn away a friend. Even a former friend. But do not expect to receive aid simply because you need it."
Kristoff didn't have a response to that, so they lapsed into silence until they came to the camp. The words 'former friend' stung him, but he supposed they were justified. After all, these people had taken him in when no one else would, and yet he abandoned them as soon as he was welcome among human society once more. It was an unpleasant thought, and far more selfish than Kristoff liked to think of himself as.
The Jotun camp was much as Kristoff remembered it. Dwellings were long, and well-constructed from wicker-wood and long-dried mud bricks. Some of the more important buildings, near the center of the concentric circles that made up the camp, had shingled roofs, though the shingles themselves were made of rough-cut, uneven stone. The Jotun had little desire to use more exacting tools than ones they could fashion for themselves, and as such their way of life had not advanced significantly for the better part of a millennium.
There were great thinkers among the giants, to be sure, but they were wise, rather than smart. It was a distinction that the Jotun were likely to make, all the while reminding an impulsive youth that the world had existed long before them, and would keep plodding along for quite a while afterwards, too. For the most part, the Jotun believed that things were the way they were as a matter of design, and that those who struggled to dramatically change the world around them were destined to learn that change was harder to affect than people tended to think.
There weren't many giants around the camp, but the Jotun were hunter-gatherers, so Kristoff hadn't expected much in the way of a reception. The few that were noticed him, but they didn't make a show of it. In fact, none of the giants seemed willing to meet his eye.
"Nobody seems to want to look at me," Kristoff said softly. He wasn't sure if he wanted response from Puca, but she didn't give one, regardless.
They eventually came to the tallest building in the camp – in fact, it was the only one two stories tall, mostly for reasons of ritual significance. Puca stepped forwards and rapped three times on the frame of the doorway, the traditional knock to signal the arrival of a visitor. From behind the veil of glass beads that filled the giant-sized doorway, a voice called.
"Come in."
Puca parted the beads for Kristoff and he stepped inside. The young giant did not follow after him. Kristoff stepped into a wide, circular room with four doorways towards the back. Those would lead into other chambers, and one would house the staircase that led up to the second floor. That was where The Grandfather kept residence. This chamber was filled with the scent of incense and the bright colors of the woven tapestries that lined the walls and kept the room pleasantly warm.
A fire pit was in the center of the chamber, though today it was just an ashy circle of rocks. Beyond it sat The Grandfather, cross-legged and with eyes closed, deep in meditative thought. The giant appeared exactly the same as Kristoff remembered him; ancient, though with an odd, timeless air about him that made him seem as if he would live forever. His hair was fully white and braided elaborately; his beard was woven with old bones and beads and other elements of the wild. His eyes, when they opened to consider Kristoff, were still brilliant bolts of blue and green.
"Young Kristoff," The Grandfather said. "I will entertain myself a moment of childlike naivete and exclaim, 'It seems as if Bjoldhhe was right all along! Here is Kristoff, back to live with the Jotun after all.'"
Kristoff sat cross-legged, across from the wizened old giant. Though The Grandfather was among the smallest of the Jotun, few felt larger than a child in his presence. He did not reply, because he knew that it would not be wise to do so.
The Grandfather considered Kristoff for a moment before speaking again. "It is good that you did not rejoin me with a quip there, I think. Perhaps your acidic tongue has finally began to wear itself out, hmm?"
"I have learned that there is a time and a place for wit, Grandfather. This is not the time."
"Nor the place, I might add," The Grandfather grumbled. "But good. I approve. What, may I ask, does the queen of Arendelle desire so badly that she sends you to us?"
Kristoff didn't want to get to that, at least not immediately. "Where is Bulda?" He said. "Normally she's somewhere in the camp."
"Bjoldhhe is past the age of childbearing," The Grandfather said. "Two years ago, she elected to become a gatherer. If she was not in the camp somewhere, then she is in the forest, I presume."
Kristoff nodded, but he wished that she was here. She'd always been the easiest to speak to among the Jotun. It helped, of course, that she'd raised him as one of her own.
"I come on behalf of all of Arendelle," Kristoff said again. "Queen Elsa is… gone."
This caught The Grandfather's attention. He looked up from under a thick brow, his eyes spectral and searching. "Gone?"
"I'm sure that you've noticed all the rain that we've been having," Kristoff said.
"Yes," The Grandfather admitted. "It is an inclement weather pattern, the likes of which we have not seen even in my own lifetime. A moon and a half of rain. It kills our plants, drowns our trees. I assume that your people will have food shortages this winter."
"Yes, we're going to have to confront that, if we make it to the winter in the first place."
The Grandfather frowned. "What do you mean?"
Kristoff wasn't surprised that the wizened giant would act obtuse; the oldest among the giants liked to make a riddle of conversation.
"The rains are just the messenger," Kristoff said. "An ancient and powerful force of evil is regaining power as we speak. Soon, it will return to the world, and we must be prepared for its wrath. This is why I come to you, Grandfather. In this new world, tribal disputes between men and Jotun will be nothing compared to the struggle to survive."
The Grandfather narrowed his eyes. "Do you know a man called Wulfric Shaw?"
Kristoff blinked. "No. I've never heard that name before."
The Grandfather rubbed at his chin. "He was a recent visitor."
'Recent' visitor could mean that the man had come to the Jotun anytime between yesterday and a decade ago, given the timescale that The Grandfather tended to think upon.
"He told us something similar."
Kristoff pushed. "Grandfather, I know that you have no particular love for the people of Arendelle. But our differences will not seem so vast, when weighed against our common need for survival. Among your people are many fine wizards. Among our people are many fine warriors. Together, we stand a chance of fighting back the darkness. United, we are stronger than either of us could be alone."
The Grandfather scowled. "I never said that I believe the claims you and Shaw make to me, Kristoff. I never said that I accept your claim that our world is threatened by an ancient and otherworldly evil."
Kristoff had to bite back a reply. He'd never gotten The Grandfather to change his mind simply by repeating his argument.
There was a long lapse of silence, during which The Grandfather retrieved a pipe, filled it with tobacco, and lit it. The ice giant inhaled deeply, and then blew an intricate ring of smoke towards the ceiling. Two more followed before he spoke again.
"I will admit to you, Kristoff, that my mind was already settled on this matter before you ever arrived. When the monk Wulfric Shaw told us the same story, I asked myself whether the man had any incentive to deceive us. Though his tale was fantastical, sometimes truth is indeed strange, and I determined to myself that the man had little to gain by lying. After all, he made no request of us, asked us for nothing other than belief."
The Grandfather returned his piercing gaze to Kristoff. "So I decided that, if the threat was as serious as Shaw claimed, then eventually an Arendane would come to us and demand assistance. I was wrong in assuming that the queen herself would make this journey, but according to you she is…"
The Grandfather raised a stony eyebrow.
"Gone," Kristoff supplied, realizing that he'd never finished threading that earlier. "She was… taken, by the darkness. Not dead, but no longer able to protect us."
"No longer an ally," the giant mused. "I decided that an Arendane demanding assistance would confirm the veracity of Shaw's tale. Already some time ago now, I convened a council of the elders, and they have determined that we will join you in our fight."
Kristoff started. He hadn't expected to have to argue the point with The Grandfather; after all, arguing rarely did much to change the old giant's mind. But he hadn't expected a decision to already have been made. These things did not happen quickly among the Jotun.
"We are not fools," The Grandfather said, more softly. "Our seers have seen that a great desolation is on the horizon for quite some time, now. Many of the other Jotun are not so hesitant to accept change as I. You are right, young Kristoff. Together we must stand."
Kristoff felt a wave of relief. He'd done something. He had no idea whether it would be enough, but he'd done something. He bowed his head.
"Thank you, Grandfather."
xxx
Elsa sat at a dusty table with an old book open upon it. Unlike most of the volumes in this library, this one was slim, and rather small. It was not embossed with gold lettering, and its cover was made of a rather cheap leather that was fraying in several places. This was theh first library that they had come to in Nahat'Tiemn, but surely there would be several more to come. Hell, if the tower was really infinitely tall, didn't that mean that there were by definition a countless number of libraries contained within its depths?
That was a question for a logician, not a queen. Odette had spoken to Elsa a bit about mathematics before, but it wasn't Odette's field of expertise, and to boot Elsa didn't really care much about it anyway, but she remembered that Odette had said something about how mathematics wasn't actually well-defined in terms of infinities. Apparently, some forward-thinking mathematicians claimed that that thinking about infinity was the future of the field. It all sounded pretty ridiculous to Elsa.
"What are you reading, mistress?" Verne asked, sliding into a seat on the other side of the table and adjusting the shutter on the lantern she'd set on the table.
"A journal," Elsa replied, turning a page. "It seems that one of our quarries accidentally left it behind when they passed through here. Based on the date on the last entry, it seems we're about two weeks behind them."
"They're traveling lighter than us, I'm afraid," Verne said. "So they'll probably pull further ahead."
"Yes," Elsa replied. "We're also probably spending more time sleeping than them. Or at least, we should be."
"I couldn't sleep, mistress," Verne said apologetically. Indeed, the rest of the caravan was snoring peacefully in the next room over, where they'd found a wing full of private residences. Here near the ground floors, there were plenty of places to house guests in Nahat'Tiemn. Elsa imagined that those probably went away as you got higher into the tower.
"You'll need your rest, Verne," Elsa said. "We've got an exciting day of walking for twelve hours ahead of us tomorrow. We'll even get a few breaks in there!"
Interestingly, Elsa had found that one of the gifts immortality had bestowed upon her was a seeming lack of the need to sleep. Indeed, though she still felt exhausted at the end of the day, she seemed to be able to refresh herself with a few hours of meditation, or some other restful activity.
"You know, mistress, you certainly aren't what I expected you to be," Verne said. The older man smiled slightly. Despite swearing to herself not to grow fond of any of Everdark's servants – they were in the service of truly abhorrent master, after all – Elsa had grown to like Verne. He was surprisingly earnest, and real. He was likeable. "Most of my masters so far have been… rather uncompromising."
"Well, Verne, I've always been more of a 'soft touch' kind of girl," Elsa replied, using her finger to trace one of the lines from the journal. "We know that they plan to send forces after us," she read aloud, "so our chances of survival are very slim. We can only hope that salvation will come in the unexplored floors of Nahat'Tiemn."
Elsa glanced over at Verne. "How is that possible?"
"Mistress?" He replied.
"That there are unexplored floors of this tower? I mean, I understand that its supposed to be infinitely tall, but didn't someone have to construct it? Have the architectural plans just been lost to time?"
"I'm not sure, mistress," Verne said honestly. "I'm just as unfamiliar with the Sea of Stars as you. But if I had to guess, I would assume that no creature, mortal or otherwise, constructed Nahat'Tiemn. I believe that the tower simply was, and we came to inhabit it over time."
The thought made Elsa feel very far from home.
"I've only spent two and a half days in this place, Verne, but I don't like it," she said.
"I don't like it either, mistress."
"The Master is trying to get rid of me," Elsa said softly, referring to Everdark by the same title that the Cult of Entropy tended to use. "It knew that this wild goose chase would take longer than the ritual of re-entering."
"Are you worried that you're going to miss out on the glory of being one of the first conquerors?" Verne asked.
"No," Elsa replied. "But there are people I love back on Earth, and I'm just wondering if I'll ever see them again." She'd read something in the very journal that she now spun in trails of dust on the old library table that gave her hope, and a plan for escape. But it was risky, and probably foolish.
"The Master has promised that no harm will come to the loved ones of his dutiful servants," Verne said, voice conciliatory. Elsa had heard this before. She didn't trust it. "So it's a matter of when, not if."
"Would that I could have your optimism, Verne," Elsa replied. "I'm starting to think –"
Elsa's thought was interrupted by a loud boom. A door being breached. Shouting suddenly erupted in the room their entourage had made camp. Elsa and Verne met eyes, and then dashed towards the source of the noise.
