Ice Blink

6: Tekkeitsertok and Isitoq

In a flash, Toklo was on his feet, his spear held ready. With one arm stretched out to aim, he coiled his body like a spring, ready to throw with enough force to send the spearhead through a ribcage and into a heart.

Choking as she swung from his grip, Nuna beheld the tallest man she'd ever seen. He had materialised out of the frosted brambles, his pale parka blending in perfectly, his face covered with a wooden mask. But he wasn't a soldier. This one was simple, not designed to be menacing, more of a shaman's mask meant to protect souls from spirits. He wasn't one of them, those men out on the ice – but that didn't make her any less afraid.

"Let go of her or I'll throw!" Toklo shouted.

"Really? You'll throw, will you, boy? You really think you can kill me?"

He threw Nuna to the ground and Toklo let out a strangled yell. Nuna seized her discarded spear but before she could turn to look at him, she sensed a presence behind her and a cold, sharp blade slid against her throat. A second hand gripped her hair, forcing her head back.

"Drop it," a cool female voice said.

She froze, thoughts darting wildly as she tried to figure out what to do. The hand tightened and she winced.

"I said drop it."

"All right!" Nuna released the spear from clenched fingers and it thudded when it hit the ground. That was the sound of defeat. She hated it.

"Good." The cool woman sounded satisfied. "Isitoq, next time loosen your hold earlier. Before you suffocate someone."

"You don't have the authority to order me around, Siru," the man growled. "Do you think they're Mortu's spies?"

"Most likely. Tie them up."

"Wait!" Nuna gasped, every sense homed in on the knife against her throat. The woman's scent of pine needles and crisp snow wreathed around her. "Did you just say spies? We're not –"

"And gag them," Siru added.

Unknown hands seized her and bound her wrists behind her back. Before she could get a good look at her ghostly captors, someone forced cloth into her mouth and a bag over her head. Disoriented and terrified, she swayed on her feet.

Hands pushed against her shoulders, forcing her legs to buckle. Nuna sat ungracefully and felt a shoulder against hers. Toklo.

They were prisoners. What had they walked into? How long had these people been following them, disguised in the shadows?

Nuna tried to talk through the gag. Her voice came out as an unintelligible mumble, and the gag slipped further back towards her throat. Panicking, she stopped. She would have grimaced at the rough texture against her tongue if she were able. Her breathing sounded too loud under the bag, through which the faintest light filtered through. She strained to figure out what was happening around her, her ears instinctively becoming more attuned.

Toklo's arm brushed hers. They were back-to-back and she had no way of communicating with him. She didn't have a plan anyway.

People were walking past – one of them collided painfully with Nuna, kicking her leg. She tried to fold them under herself, but they were already painful and going numb. Were these people preparing to move on? They were talking, but she couldn't make out any words.

She forced herself to calm down, controlling her breathing as she twisted her wrists. The rope dug in painfully. She'd never been so completely useless before.

Think. There must be a way out.

"Are the supplies still intact?" Isitoq's voice drifted closer.