Chapter One: A Boy in the Snow

Two monks of the High One's Order find a small boy in the wreckage of a village ravaged by snow and plague.

Though he was surrounded by the dead, he was at peace. Perhaps it was the seemingly oncoming end of his short life, or perhaps he had realized somewhere deep inside that there was nothing left to be scared of. Snow swirled through the air as the wind bit at the small boy's skin, and he shivered violently. The child had wrapped himself in a thick black cloak much too large for him and crawled into the corner of the ruined house.

The first people had died nearly three months earlier. There was no war with Ntir or Deharl or North Sempet, though all of those were, as usual, very real possibilities. For the moment, the land was at peace. It was not battle that currently ravaged the cold northern nation, but a deadly plague that swept through the land. While the first people who had died had received proper funerals, eventually everyone had fallen sick and there was no one left to take care of the sick. No one but the little boy, who had forgotten his name. The last one- the little boy's sister- had died the night before. The little boy closed his eyes and his eyelids froze over in nearly an instant. He sobbed and the tears chilled to ice seconds later. Instead of darkness and cold, warmth and light seemed to wash over him, like the clouds had gone away and winter had been banished. He could imagine the suns burning bright in the sky again, like they did during the warmer summers. It was never hot in the North, not even warm. All there was in the High One's Dwelling, as the nation was called, was a slight cold or the blizzards. But there was heat for the boy now.
Calm. A voice murmured in his head. It wasn't his, but it didn't feel alien. All will be fine, little boy. What is your name? The voice asked. It seemed to search through the tired boy's skull for a word. Ah… there it is. It will not be your name again for a long time, little boy. Things will change, but you will be safe. It was kind, and the boy guessed correctly that it was the source of the warmth.
The boy slept not long after that. The voice never came again.

A short man, wearing a cobalt blue robe with the hood up, stood looking over the stone ridge. The snows had calmed, and the suns were shining in the sky, reflecting their light off of the white. He squinted, trying to find the trace of the village. His comrade stood beside him. The man was an Iron Arm, one of the Order's soldiers and investigators. His robe had no sleeves, and it parted at the waist to allow for easier movement.
"Can you see anything?" he asked the man. He was silent. "Hello?" The man, Asmund, nodded and ran out off the ridge. "Hello?" the first monk, Kaj, shouted. He stumbled after him in his tight robe. Asmund was a fast runner, and Kaj was not an athletic or healthy man. He had a sizeable paunch and his legs were weak, while Asmund, like most Iron Arms, was in peak condition. "Where are you going?"
"There’s someone alive here. I can feel him." It was best not to argue with the Iron Arms; they were a stubborn lot, as a whole. Kaj could feel nothing, but the Gift bestowed upon the soon-to-be Iron Arms was far stronger than the Flame given to normal priests. Some Iron Arms could even see a slight aura that radiated from living believers in the High One. Kaj finally caught up with the man as they stood over a bump in the snow.
“… Here?" Kaj asked. Asmund nodded.
"It snowed for weeks. The houses are completely covered in snow." He got down on his knees and pawed through the snow, shoveling away the white with his bare hands. Another part of the Gift was an inability to be affected by the cold, something that helped the monks enormously.
The two finally arrived at a wooden rooftop with some holes in it. Asmund stood and looked it over quickly, gesturing for Kaj to move back. The man did as he bade and climbed back up onto the snow bank.
"What are you trying?" he asked. Asmund didn't answer. It seemed to be a common thing for him. Instead, he clenched his fists and raised his knee before driving it down furiously. There was a loud crack, and the wood gave way. The strong man plunged through the new hole and out of Kaj's view. The short man crowed and leaned over the edge of the snow bank. Light had retaken the home- that was what it was, it seemed- and small piles of snow had gathered in a few different places.
"Don't even bother. If there's anyone in there, they're dead already," he called. Asmund shook his head. He was surrounded by bodies, but he was only looking at a lump in the corner. As Kaj climbed down, he realized it was a boy, no more than six, bundled up in a black cloak. Around him in a three-foot radius, there was not a single snow flake. It was as if the boy had been radiating heat. He was asleep, if not dead.
"By Adnval…" Kaj breathed. Asmund shot him a dark look, and Kaj grimaced quickly. One was not to use the High One's name lightly. The Iron Arm knelt down and lifted the boy up, peeling back the wet cloak. The boy had dark brown hair the color of wood. Asmund pushed the eyelids apart. The boy had equally brown eyes. He had pale skin, not uncommon for a Northerner, and his chest rose and fell regularly.
"He's… fine. Healthy, I'd say." Asmund said in shock. He tried to regain his composure, but lost it again a moment later as he handed the boy to the middle-aged man. "Do you smell that?" He asked. He sniffed. "It's horrible, and it's not just rotting flesh." He got down on the ground and smelled one of the bodies, a tall man. He flipped the man over. He, too, had brown hair and pale skin. Probably the boy's father. He sniffed again and nodded slowly.
"The plague. They smell of sickness and carrion, but this man is well-preserved by the snow and cold." He looked at the boy in Kaj's arms, taking in every detail with his searching eyes. "But he's healthy. Completely." Kaj nodded, slightly confused.
"What does that mean?" He asked.
"It means he's healthy, that's what. Aside from you and the boy, I can't feel anyone else in this village. They're dead. Every single one of them, but this boy, a child, lived. How in Adnval’s-" He cut himself off, turning away quickly. Kaj chortled with satisfaction.
“So we return to the Monastery, then? If the rest are dead?" He asked. Asmund nodded. He put his chin in his hand, supporting the arm with his other hand. He looked all over the house. Not everyone looked like the boy. It was a very real possibility that, in the last days of their lives, the villagers had joined together and cowered in one household. Kaj knew that was a terrible idea. Their sicknesses would jump from one to the other, ensuring that any complications and mutations one had, the others would too.
Asmund reached up to the rotting rafter and pulled it firmly. Another crack came, as loud as the last, and a stairway of snow fell from the bank. He took the boy from the older priest's arms and climbed the steep slope. Kaj met him at the top, finding the tall man staring off into the distance. Mountains jutted into the sky, and the nearest- Mount Ahgi- had an enormous stone monastery built into the side. It was the Great Monastery, in fact, the de facto headquarters of the High One's church. The high council of monks convened there and made their great decisions, while men of higher learning studied and reflected on scripture and story in the great library that had been erected long ago by the modern-day priests' predecessors.
"I'm going to take him back to the Monastery. Try to keep up," Asmund said coldly.
"What, now?" Kaj asked. Halfway through the sentence, the other priest had already begun to run, shooting off into the distance like a blue streak. The older man cursed and hiked back up to the ridge, where he'd discarded his staff.
"Damn insufferable man," the priest muttered as he began the long walk home.