III.
Unsaid words were lost in Elsa's throat as she stared into the blue eyes inches from her own. The stranger – Jack – gazed at her intently and silently, patiently waiting for her response.
She could not respond. She didn't hear his last question. The only questions in her mind were her own: wasn't Bergis supposed to be abandoned and empty? How could a person live here? Why was he living here? Was the cold making her hallucinate?
Cold fingers suddenly touched her cheek, and she drew in a sharp breath of surprise. For a moment, her racing her stopped. Then, as the icy fingertips gradually warmed, she exhaled slowly and closed her eyes. The cold, the warmth, and the touch were real. He was not a hallucination.
"You're real," she said at the same time as did he.
Jack briskly removed his hand and took two steps backwards, fumbling with his staff as it dragged in the snow. He threw his hood back over his head, his pale face filling with colors in the shadow. "I – I'm sorry," he stammered, still moving backwards. "It's just that I haven't seen a living human in a long time, and I thought that you might be a hallucinating." He stopped and hesitantly raised his head to meet Elsa's blank gaze.
"It's alright," Elsa sighed. She tried to keep her voice even to hide her surprise and frustration. Here she was in the supposedly forsaken district, having run many miles in a desperate attempt to escape humanity, only to find herself in the presence of another human. She didn't know whether to be awed or angry, so she decided to at least have her questions answered. "What are you doing here in Bergis?"
"What am I doing here?" Jack repeated. He glanced around at the snow-laden ruins and shrugged. "Living, I guess."
Elsa pressed her fingers to her temples and shook her head. "No, no. I mean, why are you here? Why are you living here? I thought that Bergis was unpopulated."
A sad smile spread across Jack's lips. "I'll tell you why I'm here if you tell me why you're here."
"I refuse," she huffed, crossing her arms indignantly.
"Then, my lips are sealed."
The specks of light in Jack's eyes danced, and he let loose a small mocking laugh as he observed Elsa getting angrier. She wanted to wipe the smug smile off of his face. The way he spoke was strange. His manner of speaking wasn't highly unusual; it was the fact that he seemed to be able to carry a normal conversation with her that caught her attention. As a poor daughter of a Bergis-refugee, Elsa had to smuggle discarded books to read into her apartment, and through them she'd learned that one who lived in isolation did not develop proper social skills, such as having conversations. So how could –?
"Ah-choo!"
Elsa sniffed and rubbed her nose. Ah, she'd sneezed. Rubbing her arms, she lifted her gaze toward the sky. It seemed like gray clouds above were growing heavier.
"It must be nighttime," Jack said, although Elsa could not tell how he knew. "The storm is going to start soon." He paused and stared at her shivering figure. "It looks like the cold bothers you more than does me. Let's go inside the library and warm up by the fire."
"The cold doesn't bother me," Elsa grumbled, but Jack had already taken her hand and was leading her up the steps toward the library doors. He grabbed hold of one of its handles and pulled it open, and a great blast of warmth from inside hit Elsa with nearly the force of a crashing wave. She could feel the ice melting off of her clothes and heart; it seemed like so much time had passed since she last felt heat.
Still being led, Elsa walked into a room that made her gasp, and that gasp was her last as her breath was taken away. They had entered into a cavernous circular room lit with bright electrical lights protruding from the walls. A blazing fire danced in a vast fireplace on the wall opposite the door. Plush red carpet an inch thick covered the floor, and propped on it were square tables and cushioned chairs of various shapes and sizes. Numerous piles of books and single books open to random pages lay scattered. Bookshelves with thirty levels of shelves filled with bound books started from the ground and reached high toward the ceiling, which domed and was painted with images of cherubs reading more books.
Books. Books were everywhere.
"Oh!" she gasped, at a loss for words.
"Welcome to my humble home," Jack chuckled. He let go of her hand and rested his on his waist. "Do you read?"
"I can read," she replied, still somewhat dazed. "I know how. I just haven't read much. I mean, I haven't read many books. I used to work in a factory, you see, and reading was forbidden."
"Then, how do you know how to read?"
"My mother taught me."
"So did mine. Where is your mother now? Did you leave her behind when you came here?"
Elsa felt her heart ice over again. "No," she said coldly. "She left me behind. She's dead."
"Oh." Jack scratched his hair uncomfortably. After a long pause, he said, "So is mine."
An icy wind blew chilled Elsa to her bones and made the fire dance wildly. "Excuse me. I forgot to close the door." He pulled shut the wooden gate, and the room became warm once again. "Feel free to pick a book and read it beside the fire. I'll prepare us something to eat."
He turned and disappeared though a smaller door to the side, leaving Elsa alone. For a long while, she stood there in the silence not knowing what to do in a stranger's abode. The place was unfamiliar to her, and yet it was so familiar. She wondered if her mother spent long hours in this library before the Frost.
Jack had told her that she could take a book, and the bounty of literature before her made her mouth water. Timidly, she walked to the table nearest her and picked up a book that was lying open. The text was quite large, and the pages were of high-quality papers and decorated with colorful illustrations. The book itself was fairly thin, and Elsa closed it to see the cover.
An image of a tall and elegant woman stared with sharp, cold eyes back at Elsa. The woman had pale smooth skin and wore a floor-length white dress and white fur coat embellished with expensive jewels and fine metals. In her right hand, she held a golden scepter, and on her head she donned a silver crown. At her feet stood two children: a young girl and boy dressed in threadbare winter clothes. Above the image of the three and written in fancy script was the title: The Snow Queen.
She scoffed. What a befitting book to be in this place.
With weak interest, she opened the book again to its first page and skimmed its contents. The tale began with a group of demons who possessed an evil mirror. When she tried to flip the page, a sharp pain on her finger made her cry out in surprise. The pain was acute and quickly subsiding, but Elsa's mind clouded with panic. She stared at her index finger.
On the surface of her skin was a thin cut with a tiny drop of blood seeping out. She turned her attention to the edge of the page that her finger had brushed against. A small portion at the edge of the paper was already dissolving.
Quickly, Elsa threw the book onto the table and rubbed the open cut against the back of her other hand with such force that her skin stung. When the blood stopped flowing, she turned her back and hurried toward the fire. Her hands were cold, and they needed to be warmed. Perhaps the heat would stop the blood flow.
The fire was indeed warm. She wondered if the past few days in the intense cold had made her forget how warmth felt. She carefully sat herself down on a cushion and held her palms out toward the hearth while allowing her eyes to wander. The books on the towering shelves stood side by side so that although she could not see their covers, she could read the titles written on the spines. Having only read a small handful of books in her life, none of the titles on the shelves sounded familiar. She speculated that it would take one several lifetimes to read all that was here.
"Have you found a book to read yet?"
"No. There is so much here that it's difficult to decide."
He carefully sat down on a cushion beside her. She saw that he was holding a tray, and when he placed it on the ground, she gazed at what was on it. There was a porcelain tea set of a pot and two cups painted with a floral design. A platter of dark brown biscuits accompanied the set along with two misshapen chunks of foil.
"Chocolate!" Elsa exclaimed. She instinctively reached for the sweets but caught herself and drew back her hand.
Jack raised his eyebrow and took a bite of a biscuit. "You don't have to always act so scared. Have one. There is much more from where this came from."
Elsa was so very scared. In Aunah, chocolate was a luxury due to discontinued trade in Bergis. She'd only tasted chocolate once when her mother snuck her some after scavenging the garbage behind a candy store. The sweetness and stickiness of the treat was the most delicious Elsa had tasted until then, and a few days later, she'd returned to the candy store alone to look for her. The shop owner spotted her and gave her a solid beating. The blows from his fists to her body had left to scars on her skin, but the emotional scars inflicted were permanent.
Jack tossed the balls of foil into the fire and held a biscuit out toward Elsa. He frowned as though confused and said, "Hurry and eat. You look like you haven't eaten in a long time."
Hesitantly, she took the biscuit. It felt hard and smooth. She bit off a small piece and chewed slowly, her saliva mixing with the delicacy and turning it soft. The taste was not as strong as the raw chocolate her mother had given her, but it was still undeniably chocolate just the same.
"It's good," she sighed.
"Here, have some more," he offered, pushing to plate of biscuits closer to her. He proceeded to pour the drink, and Elsa watched the caramel colored liquid stream out of the pot's spout and fill the cups one at a time. "Frankly, this tastes really weird, but it warms you pretty quickly."
Elsa picked up her cup and took a cautious sip. Although she only swallowed a small bit of the drink, her throat scorched with the intensity of a factory furnace. She grabbed her neck and coughed and sputtered, but the pain lasted for only a moment. The heat subsided and left her mouth filled with a sweet aftertaste and her stomach warmed with a gentle ember. Intrigued, she took another, bigger swig of the drink, and this time, the burning wasn't as intense. The strange taste persisted, but it was strangeness that she found addicting.
Jack finished his serving and cleared his throat. "You're not talking much," he noted. "Outside, you were yelling like you were angry."
"It's not that I'm not talking," she said. "My head is just a mess right now, and I cannot turn my thoughts into words. I came to Bergis mentally prepared to live alone, but then you appeared. How? How are you –?"
"How am I here?" Jack finished. He shrugged. "I was born here, and I've lived here ever since."
"No, no, no. Let's try this again." Elsa thought for a moment before speaking again. "Why are you here? The people of Bergis evacuated eighteen years ago because the snow killed them. But you…" Her voice trailed off as she examined his sitting figure: tall with long, slim limbs and pale complexion. "You're fine. You… you're even sane."
He turned his gaze toward the fire. The red flames reflected off of his eyes. "I'll tell you if you tell me why you're here."
Here they went again. Elsa rolled her eyes in annoyance. "I've told you that I refuse."
"And I've told you that I wouldn't answer your questions until you answered mine."
The room filled with tense silence. Elsa glared at Jack while he stared into the fire. Suddenly, he smiled and announced, "They're ready." Holding a knife, he reached toward the base of the blaze and gently rolled out the two foil balls. He tried to rip the foil and cried out in surprise. "Ah, it's hot," he grumbled, and he licked his pink fingers and tried again, this time gripping the foil with his fingernails and opening the folds in quick motions. Steaming inside both was a large baked potato.
"It's hot," he repeated, and he nudged a potato toward Elsa. He smiled.
His smile only frustrated Elsa. Angrily, she stared at the steaming potato. Then, she realized something stranger than the taste of the tea.
"Bergis was evacuated eighteen years ago," she murmured.
"Yes, so?"
She pointed at the potatoes. "I know that ice can preserve food, but even the Frost cannot keep a potato from rotting for eighteen years. The biscuits should have gone stale long ago, but they didn't. I've noticed that this old library has no dust, either. It's too clean." She narrowed her eyes. "You don't dust this entire place, do you?"
He laughed. "Nope."
"Then, what?"
"I'll tell you if you tell me you're here."
That was it. Elsa's bubble of negative emotions exploded, and she felt frustration, irritation, anger, and fear all at once. Her breaths came out hard and shakily, and her mind was clouded. Jack stared at her in apprehension.
"Fine," she spat. "Are you so desperate to know why I'm here? I'll tell you why I'm here." She grabbed the handle of the knife, and with trembling hands and racing heart, she slashed the blade through her palm. The pain came immediately, and Elsa bit back a cry.
Wide eyed, Jack stared at her wound, through which blood was flowing freely. "What are you doing?"
Wordlessly, Elsa held her reddened hand over the potato. The blood from the cut dripped from her palm and onto the food. Immediately, the skin of the potato sizzled softly and began to ebb away. The blood soaked into its now bare, yellow insides, and the hole quickly grew wider and deeper until the potato had a gaping cavity stained with crimson. The blood had dissolved the potato clean through.
"That's why I'm here," she whispered.
She stood and sprinted toward the door without a backward glance. Blood still dripped from her wound, and as she ran across the room, thick drops of red fell onto the carpet and burned the patches on which they fell.