Tales of Wind and Fire: Giver

Chapter 25

The fury of the ice river broke upon them with terrifying force.
Bennu had to lean into the blast just to stay standing, and clutch his cape to stop it being ripped away. Through the streaming snow, he saw Cybil pushing forward with all her strength; Mystigan staggering sideways, his eyes slitted against the wind. The ice river had them in its grip and it wasn't letting go. It howled till Bennu's ears ached, and scoured his face with flying ice; it spun him round till he could no longer see Cybil, or Mystigan, or even his own boots. At any moment it might hurl him into an ice hole. . .
Through the swirling whiteness he caught sight of a dark pillar. A rock? A snowdrift? Could it be that they'd finally reached the edge of the ice river?
Cybil grabbed his arm. "We can't go on!" She shouted. "We've got to dig in and wait till it's over!"
"Not yet!" He yelled. "Look! We're nearly there!"
He battled on towards the pillar. It shattered and blew apart. It was nothing but a snow cloud: the ice river's vicious trick. He turned to Cybil. "You're right! We've got to dig a snow cave!"
But Cybil was gone.
"Cybil! Cybil!" The ice river tore her name from his lips and whirled it away into the gathering dusk.
He dropped to his knees and groped for Mystigan. His mitten found fur, and he clutched the cub. Mystigan was casting around for Cybil's scent. But what could even a Kitsune pick up in this?
Amazingly, Mystigan prickled his ears and stared straight ahead. Bennu thought he saw a figure gliding through the snow. "Cybil!"
Mystigan leapt after it, and Bennu followed, but he hadn't gone far when the wind threw him against solid ice. He fell back, nearly crushing the cub. He'd blundered into what looked like an ice hill. In its side was a hole just big enough to crawl through. A snow cave? Surely Cybil wouldn't have had the time to dig one so quickly?
With one bound, Mystigan disappeared inside. After a moment's hesitation, Bennu followed.
The clamor of the ice river died down as he crawled into the darkness. With ice-caked mittens he felt out his surroundings. A low roof, so low that he had to crouch on hands and knees; a slab of ice by the entrance hole. Someone must have cut it for a door. But who?
"Cybil?" He called.
No reply.
He pushed the slab across the hole, and the stillness closed in around him. He could only hear Mystigan-licking the snow from his paws; ice sliding from his own shoulder, and the soulless whisper from the wind outside. He put out his hands, and Mystigan gave a warning growl. Bennu snatched his hand away. The hairs on the back of his neck began to prickle. Cybil wasn't in here— but something was. Something that waited in the dark. "Who's there?" He said.
The icy blackness seemed to tense.
Wrenching off his mittens with his teeth, he whipped out his knife. "Who's there?"
Still no answer. He groped for one of Cybil's rushlights. His fingers were so cold that he dropped his tinder pouch. It took forever to find it again; to hit the flint against the strike-fire, and showed sparks on the little pile of yew bark shavings in his hand, but at last the rushlight flared. For just a moment he wished he could produce flames from his bare hands like he did back at the stone-mouth, but where would he even start? Suddenly his thoughts died out. He forgot about Cybil, forgot about the ice river.
Almost touching his knee lay a man.
He was dead.

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Bennu flattened himself against the ice wall. If Mystigan hadn't warned him, he would have touched the corpse—and to touch the dead is to risk terrible danger. When the soul leaves the body, it can be angry, confused, or just simply unwilling to embark on the Death Journey. If one of the living stays too close, the disembodied soul may try to posses it, or follow it home.
All this rushed through Bennu's mind as he stared at the dead man.
His lips looked chiseled from ice; his flesh was waxen yellow. Snow had drifted into his nostrils in a cruel parody of breath, but his ice-filmed eyes were open, staring at something Bennu couldn't see: something that was cradled in the crook of his dead arm.
Mystigan seemed unafraid, even drawn to the corpse. He lay with his muzzle between his paws, gazing at it steadily. The dead man had worn his long brown hair lose, except for a singel lock at the temple, matted with red ochre. Bennu thought of the Owl-guild woman at Kai's clan meet; she'd worn her hair in the same way. Had this man been of the same guild?
He felt the stirrings of pity. What was the man's name? What had he been seeking out here, and how did he die?
Then Bennu saw that on the brown forehead, a shaky three spirals had been daubed in red ochre, followed by a flame and a wave on both the mans cheeks. Death Marks. The man must have felt death coming for him, and put on his own marks so that his soul would be guided after death. That must be why he'd left the slab ajar too: to let his soul free. "You were brave," said Bennu out loud. "You didn't flinch from death." He remembered the figure he'd glimpsed in the snow. Had that been the soul setting out on its final journey? Could you see souls? Bennu didn't know.
"Be at peace," he told the corpse. "May your soul find its rest, and may the gates of heaven open." He bowed his head for his dead companion.
Mystigan sat up, pricking his ears at the corpse. Bennu was startled. Mystigan seemed to be listening.
Bennu leaned closer.
The dead man gazed calmly at the thing cradled in his arm. But when Bennu saw what it was, he was even more puzzled. It was a lantern with two stones inside. One looked exactly like the death mark of wind, three spirals drawn on the jade. It took awhile to make out what was carved on the second, a ruby no larger than his fist, but Bennu figured it to be a flame. The wick of the lantern that held the stones had long since burned away, and all that remained of the oil was a faint greyish stain. Beside him, Mystigan gave a high, soft whine. His hackles were up but he didn't seem frightened. That whine had been a greeting.
Bennu frowned. Mystigan had acted like that before. In the cave below the Thunder Falls.
His eyes returned to the dead man. He pictured his final moments: curled in snow, watching the small, bright flame as his own life flickered and sank. . .
Suddenly Bennu knew. The stone with the mark of wind on it, "One of soulless whisper," he quoted to himself. "Wind. Wind! The stone with the air symbol on it must be the next part of the world-soul!" His mind flared:
One of holocaust and life...
One of soulless whisper—wind
One of that we tremble— earth
One of  crystal clear flow— water

Bennu had figured it out. "The four elements, Fire, wind, earth and water. That means the last part of the riddle, One of holocaust and life, must mean one of fire." He whispered to Mystigan, not bothering to talk spirit. Then he looked at the ruby with the flame carved onto it.
He had found the last two pieces of the world-soul.

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Gripping the rushlight in one hand, Bennu untied the ravenskin pouch with the other, and tipped the box into the snow.
"Uff!" Warned Mystigan.
Bennu slipped off the hair cord and lifted the lid. The world-souls stared blindly up at him, nestled on the rowan leaves. There was just enough room beside them for the lamp: almost, he thought, as if Cybil had known how big to make the box.
With numb fingers he pulled on one mitten and leaned over the dead man— being careful not to touch him— and lifted the lamp clear. It was only when he'd got it safely boxed and back in the pouch that he realized he'd been holding his breath.
It was time to go and find Cybil. Quickly he tied the pouch to his belt. But as he turned to push the slab aside, something made him stop.
He had all the pieces of the world-soul.
Here, in this snow cave, where he was safe.
"If you get caught in a snowstorm," Cybil had said, "you dig yourself a snow cave and wait till it stops." If he ignored that now— if he braved the wrath of the ice river to look for her— he probably wouldn't survive. The World-souls would be buried with him. The entire forest would be doomed.
If he didn't, Cybil might die.
Bennu sat back on his heels. Mystigan watched him intently, his sapphire eyes quite un-cub-like.
The rushlight wavered in Bennu's hand. He couldn't just leave her. He lov—liked her. But could he— should he risk the world to save her?
As never before, he longed for Ma. Ma would know what to do. . .
But Ma isn't here, he told himself. You've got to decide. You, Bennu. By yourself.
Mystigan tilted his head to one side, waiting to see what Bennu would do.