SHIVER (rewriting)

The Kiss of Ice

~Tyrann 1999~

The wind howled through the rickety heaters of the old truck, the warm breeze withering as a shiver crawled up Brae Arlow's spine. He leant his forehead against the cold window, the pane frozen shut. The music was nothing but a dull hum, the engine rumbling over the song. A thick blanket of snow covered the small village of Tyrann, the white a stark contrast to the famous black wrought iron architecture and dark wood stained houses.

Snow fell like clockwork every ten years, killing the churches crops and scaring most of the community indoors. The children's fairytales of Zerin told of the cold curse creeping in every decade over the village. It lasted October to January, the residents stocking up and counting down the days till the familiar greens returned in February.

The bitter weather did nothing to squash nine-year-old Brae's thirst for knowledge. He spent most of his time in the forest of Tyrann, listening to the whispers of trees that left the tales of warriors behind in their grains. He knew every species of bird that flew above him and warned him of danger.

Brae leant forward to peer out of the windscreen, a dozen ravens circling the sky reminding him of the manic birds in the Shiver tale. He squeezed his eyes shut and slapped his hands over his ears to drown out their awful screams.

Down to the murky waters, down to drown. Brae opened his eyes in time to see the singing bird swoop down in front of the truck, his fingers curling around his ears as he tried to shake away the voice. He looked on in horror as the bird hit the protruding wing mirror of the bonnet, snapping it clean off.

"Oh, mother of mercy!" his mother spat slamming on the brakes, the truck's tires swerving down what she hoped was still the road but she couldn't tell anymore. Brae clung to the strap of his seatbelt, his gaze darting from his mother and the missing wing mirror. She hung her head staring into her lap, her caramel hair bouncing up and down in spirals as she rocked back and forth with every number she mumbled under her shaky breath.

Brae pulled the doorhandle pushing his shoulder on it to open the stiff hinges, "Ma you killed a bird," he called over his shoulder, his gaze drawn to the unmoving raven in a pile of snow. Its inky feathers ruffled and stretched out pointing to the frozen lake.

His eyes followed the swerve of tire tracks left behind in the snow, a glimpse of the ashen tarmac shining under the ice.

"Thank you, Darling. That's all I need reminding of," she said blowing out a breath and resting her palms on her thighs as she summoned up some energy from her dive out of the driver's seat to his side. He crouched down, reaching out to poke the bird hoping the touch would wake the animal up.

"It's okay Ma, we can take the bird to the church and bury him," he said slipping his hand into her warm one, squeezing it in his hold. She glanced down at her son, his honey eyes sparkling with warmth and innocence.

She couldn't help but smile back at her son, "I have a better idea, we'll go to the lake and then take the bird to Miss Tala," she said letting go of his hand to scoop up the raven. Her fingers delicately positioned the black feathers of its wings back to the bird's side.

He wrinkled his nose at the thought of the towns crazy lady, "what's she going to do? Stuff the bird and keep it as a pet?" he asked trailing behind his mother to the truck, she opened the passenger seat for him waiting for him to climb in, her lips pursed.

His mother zipped his jacket up harshly, yanking the seat belt over his chest and clicked it in, "Brae," she scolded him, he fidgeted in his chair trying to avoid his mothers disapproving glare. "What have I told you about that tongue of yours?" she asked raising a brow at him.

"Don't make fun of people that choose to be different," he mumbled fiddling with the button on his pocket. His mother laid the dead bird on his lap wrapped it in a silk hanky, the dark feathers visible through the delicate fabric. He cupped his warm hands around the raven, the fear of it coming to life and pecking his eyes out.

The truck shook as she slammed his door shut, the torch he stuffed in the side panel rattled and a dim yellow light flickered on. Brae scooped it out, forgetting about the bad omen and tapped the glass with his finger, the bulb losing its life as it zapped him. The engine rumbled to life as he stuck his finger in his mouth to soothe the stinging sensation dancing through his flesh.

Tyrann's church bell rang through the village, the echoes fading as the truck turned down the pebbled track to the lake. Brae threw his door open before the engine cut out, his boots crunching on the compact snow beneath them. The lake was his favourite place in Tyrann. In the summer he liked how the sun skimmed across the water and glimmered in the heat, but the white powder covering the land was new for him. The lake frozen, the perfect opportunity for Brae to test out his father's childhood ice skates.

"Brae darling, tread lightly on the ice and if cracks appear, come right back." She crouched down in front him and pulled his jacket buttoning the clasps up.

"Yes mama," he nodded, a smile stretching onto his face.

His hands dug into the snow, shovelling it up and watching the powder escape through his fingertips, he loved the way it made his skin tingle. The wind nipped away his cheeks, heat rushing to the top turning them pink and he wriggled his numb nose. His eyes followed the ghost of his mother's breath in the air as he rubbed his hands together for a little warmth.

With a kiss on the forehead, his mother placed his hat and gloves on him, leading him to the ice with a smile. He stepped on the frozen water, the metal blades of his shoes scraping on the surface and sending dust in his wake.

He traced patterns into the ice, twirling around on the lake and he glanced at the darker patch near the centre. It looked almost black, skating over he left the dents of grey in his wake and he stopped. The skies had been this dark for the past week. Not a single star hung in the night reminding Brae of the ice he studied before him.

Small fractures spread through the darkness a foot away from him. His gaze followed the lines that reminded him of the veins of a snowflake. He was so fascinated by the work of art that he forgot his mother's warning. He searched the land for his mother, the silence amplifying the erratic beat of his heart.

Brae plunged into the freezing water, his nerves dancing like a thousand needles pricking his skin. The murky water pushed him further down, deeper into the unknown. He thrashed around under the ice, trying to swim back to the hole but once again a force yanked him back.

He clawed at the frozen surface, his fingertips gliding along the slippery barrier. His hand's pounded on the thick sheet of ice that trapped him under the surface, legs kicking as he attempted to break his way out. The sound of him striking the ice echoed through the water, the vibrations trembling through him and he screamed, bubbles escaping his lips.

Silky black vines wrapped around him and he felt a tug on his jacket, his gaze falling on a girl. She pulled him closer and pressed her lips against his as she guided him back to the hole. She broke away from the kiss, Brae's lungs full of air once again and she released him from her hold, lifting him up.

Brae gasped for air as he broke free to the surface and his eyes darted around as he looked for his mother. With trembling hands, he clawed away at the glassy ice and tried to push his body out of the water. Hands wrapped around his arms pulling him up and he glanced up at the worried face of his mother. His body slammed into her chest as she hugged him close and tried to share her body warmth with him.

"Oh Brae, what did I tell you?"

"There's a girl down there!" He said shakily as his mother guided him to the safety of the land.

"We're the only ones here," she replied stripping him down from his coat and wrapping him in a blanket, unlacing his shoes in the truck. Brae held his hands up to the heater as he tried to forget about the cold, the darkness and the feeling of being trapped.

He wouldn't forget the winter of nineteen-ninety-nine.