The Ice King

Prologue

Prologue

Eve's grandmother was dying. A deep, hacking cough had infected her throat months back--the beginning of the end. The sweet voice that had told stories all through Eve's childhood had deepened into something unrecognisable. But it never stopped.

"Trina, you should rest," said Eve's grandfather worriedly, hovering over her bedside. Trina waved her arm impatiently, the movement provoking a cough which shook her for long moments before she spoke.

"I'm fine," she rasped, wrinkled hand gripping Eve's wrist. "Tell him I'm fine, Eve."

"She's fine," said Eve confidently, her blue eyes clear. She was seventeen years old now, but she believed as implicitly in her grandmother's word now as she had when she was six. If Trina said she was fine, she was. And that was that.

It was a cold night. A fire roared in the hearth, but the old woman still shivered.

"Can you hear the sea?" she said suddenly.

Eve strained her ears, trying to hear the sound of the surf. "No, nana."

"I can," said Trina, head turning on the pillow. Her forehead was damp, despite her shivering. "I always could."

Eve's grandfather grunted at that, falling heavily into the soft cushions of the sofa.

"I could," muttered Trina, then began to cough again. Some minutes passed before she recovered. Eve tried to pass her a glass of water, but the old woman refused to drink.

"I don't want it. I won't be wanting much soon," she said.

"Trina..." protested Eve's grandfather.

"I won't!"

The room was quiet again for a minute, and Trina closed her eyes. Eve stared into the dancing flames of the fire, trying not to think.

"I've always loved the sea," croaked Trina, her voice quiet. "It was my choice to move here, you know."

"I know, Nana," said Eve, turning back to smooth a strand of white hair from the old woman's forehead. She looked exhausted. "You told me."

"But I hate the cold," she said, and then laughed. She managed it without coughing. Eve's skin crawled a little at this deep mirthless laugh coming from her grandmother's throat, but she didn't turn away. "It's cruel. It creeps into my bones and freezes them. It hurts."

Her head turned back and forth on the pillow again. Eve bit her lip.

The hacking cough returned, and this time when Trina moved the handkerchief it was spattered with blood. Eve took it and placed it on the bedside table, pretending not to see, but her grandfather's eyes caught hers. A moment of understanding passed between them before Eve turned away. The atmosphere was heavy, but Trina's soul hadn't seemed to notice, still on the verge of slipping free.

"Do you want to sleep, Nana?"

The old woman just nodded, eyes still closed. Her chest was heaving slightly, as if she was on the verge of a cough but hadn't the strength to let it out. Eve slipped into the big bed beside her grandmother, helping her get comfortable before she lay her own head down on the pillows.

Michael came over and kissed his wife on the cheek. She didn't move. Eve kissed him for her, and then he clicked off the light before returning to the sofa.

She held on to Trina's hand all night, watching the flickering blue patterns on the wall made by the television.

During the night, Trina's breathing changed. The labouring staccato stopped for a moment, and then seemed to clear. Trina took a deep, easy breath. She turned towards her granddaughter slightly. The nice breathing lasted for a while, and then Trina began to sound like she was gargling. A sharp, unpleasant odour like nail-polish remover came from her.

Eve squeezed her eyelids together tightly, wishing she was asleep.

They buried Trina the next day, just Eve and her grandfather, scattering dirt that was blown away by the harsh highland winds. The whole world was silent, except for the wind, and the sea.