How many hundreds of years has it been since I laid eyes on our patron deity? I can still see that moment as clearly as the scorched spots in my retinas. Admission into the Court of Nine Lives isn’t voluntary, Ilene. My role was predetermined, and my brother but an inevitable casualty in a cosmic war without borders.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, how the hell do you keep catching them?” Itrit spat as his brother scooped up another fish about the size of his arm and dropped it into the bucket at his feet.
“I keep telling you, little brother, just because you’ve got bait at the end of your line doesn’t mean the fish’ll come biting.” He said, slipping a silvery hook through another chunk of meat and casting the line into the water.
“What in the devil’s name do you mean?”
“Look.” He pointed to Itrit’s fishing rod, which sat alone, crooked, under the seat of their small wooden rowboat.
“So?”
“So, we’ve been out here three full hours, and you haven’t so much as looked in its direction since you cast the line.”
“You’re suggesting that I stare at the damn thing? Haven’t you heard such nonsense about how a watched pot never boils?”
“No, you idiot. Fishing is an art; you have to do more than just let the bait settle to the bottom of the sea.” He tugged on his fishing rod, drawing the line like a struggling animal caught in the water. “Get the fish excited; otherwise, you’re just dropping dead weight.”
“Yeah, yeah.” He waved his brother off, looking back towards the horizon.
Itrit had been out with his brother all morning, trying to bring in enough food for the week’s end. Gods, he hated fishing. It was so boring, sitting there hour after hour, drifting in the open ocean. To make matters worse, the wind kicked like a mule, and it hurt to breathe; the liquid in his nose froze on contact.
He tightened the coat around his waist and buried his nose in the red scarf around his neck. Oh great, it started raining too, but not like the gentle mist from the summer months. No, this shit came down like rocks cutting his face.
“How many more do we need? I can’t take much more of this.”
“You know, if you started fishing instead of complaining, we might get done a bit earlier.”
Gods, his brother could be annoying, too. Thirty years old, and he was still being treated like a child.
He wouldn’t help, of course. Nothing except the divine ascending from heaven would get him to pick up that damn pole. So instead, he counted the raindrops on the sea’s surface. How high did he get? Was it a hundred before the fog rolled in? He hadn’t even noticed until it closed in around them like smoke billowing from a smothered fire.
“Damn, where did all of this come from?” His brother Adriel drew in his line and grabbed the oars, turning the boat around. “We’d better get back.”
It was too late. They couldn’t see the shore through layers of fog so thick he could count the rings. His brother paddled around aimlessly. The boat had drifted too far from the coast for them to navigate back using blind luck alone.
“I told you we should’ve headed back,” Itrit said. “But no. You were too focused on yarn yanking.”
“Would you shut up! I think I see something.”
From the mist, he saw a white peak come into view.
“I don’t think that’s the shore…”
The mist receded around a massive structure that glowed fluorescent blue beneath a light dusting of snow. It was as if a mountain had descended into the sea but floated near the surface. Unlike the shore, it drifted in the ocean like a boat. This was no mountain; it was a chunk of ice.
“I think that’s an iceberg,” Adriel said.
Itrit had heard of such things from sailors who crossed the sea.
“Just how far from home are we?”
Their boat drifted ashore on the ice, and the brothers drove an anchor deep into the structure.
The glacier rose around them, with hills and jutting structures; some even had deep valleys and fissures that led into darkness. The ice sounded hollow with iron groaning as the structure rocked back and forth. It was like an abandoned vessel, a ghost ship that flowed against the ocean’s current.
“Something is wrong,” Adrial said when the wind stopped blowing.
Like the calm before the storm, the world went silent, broken only by the crushed ice beneath their boat.
“Look up there!” Itrit shouted, pointing towards one of the glacier’s peaks.
At the top of that jutting structure stood a young woman with shoulder-length brown hair and a flowing white gown. She looked back at them, and he thought he saw her beckoning to him before she turned and walked out of sight.
“No, wait!” Itrit said, jumping from the boat and onto the ice.
“Damn it, Itrit. What are you doing?!” Adrial chased after him, grabbing some rope and spikes from the boat.
The iceberg rose at unnatural angles, and Itrit struggled to get a foothold as he ascended the glassy spire towards where the woman had been. The air grew colder towards the top, and the ice sloped, forming dangerous, slippery surfaces. He panted, hauling himself up onto the overcast ledge. He looked over the ravine, but found nothing save for the gentle lapping of distant waves and the fluorescent glow of the ice beneath.
“Hello!?” Itrit called out, his voice echoing for miles in either direction.
There was no response.
“We need to leave now.” Adrial grabbed his brother’s shoulder, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end.
Itrit turned back and saw the woman’s white gown flowing into a cave burrowed into the ice. “I see her. She’s over there, look!”
As the words left his lips, he stumbled on the ice and fell face first into a fissure. He screamed, striking his head on the rigid surface and losing consciousness.
— ✦ —
Itrit woke groaning loudly as he cradled his head. The world spun around his feet, and he squinted in the bright lights. He could smell grape cocktails and felt unusually warm. Where was he? He couldn’t remember; the world was a haze like a thick fog rolling through his thoughts.
“Good sir, are you alright?” came a voice and a steady hand that braced his shoulders.
“Where am I?” He stumbled, looking around at an elegant ballroom; the floor filled with young couples dancing to music he couldn’t hear, just the protestations of an unseen creaking metal structure.
“We are at the reception, sir,” came the voice again.
He looked up to find a tall man dressed in black and white with a clean towel in his shirt pocket and an intricate gold watch hanging from his waist.
“Your reception, sir? Oh dear, perhaps you took a harder fall than I thought?”
“I just need a moment.” Itrit shut his eyes, the headache growing worse.
He opened his eyes and looked down at his attire. Itrit was dressed in a suit and a bowtie resembling a fisherman’s knot. When did he learn to tie one of those? Gods, his head hurt.
“Come with me, sir,” the man said, taking his shoulder and leading him through the crowds. “A little liquid courage will do you some good.”
“Why am I at a reception?” He asked as they approached a bar, liquor lining the back like chocolate at a candy store.
“You’re to be wed, sir. Don’t you remember?” The man said as he stepped behind the counter and poured a glass of red wine.
“Wedding?” His head hurt so badly. “Who am I marrying?”
“Oh, good sir. It’s bad luck to see the bride before the wedding.”
“But don’t receptions take place after?”
“Not here, sir. Here we party as if there is no tomorrow. After all, who knows what will happen after the ceremony? Perhaps today our prayers will be answered.” The man slid the glass in his direction.
Itrit took a seat and sipped the drink, which tasted sweet like cream. “Your prayers?”
“Yes, our prayers. We envy you, don’t you know that? We have all tried at least once, but you… I should think you will succeed where we fail.”
Itrit took another sip, and then someone pushed him from the stool, grabbing hold of his wrist. He stumbled, catching himself before he fell, a young woman pulling him through the crowd.
“Itrit, I need you to listen to me!” she shouted. “We don’t have much time!”
She wore a powder-white dress and had shoulder-length brown hair with a circular scar above her brow. She looked so familiar; it was like he had seen her before.
“Wait, sir, your drink!” The bartender called after them.
“Who are you?” He asked, the throbbing in his head now like an earthquake.
“I am your sponsor.” She took him to a shady corner near the doors of the ballroom. “Never mind about that, I need you to listen to me,” she said, brushing hair from her face. “The seed has already taken root inside of you, and it won’t be long before you’re anchored. Our patron needs an outsider, and the court of nine-lives has convened. You’ve been chosen, Itrit.”
“Chosen? Chosen for what?”
“You must leave before it’s too late. Take these doors and get out while you can.” She pushed him to the exit, her hands as cold as ice, a fluorescent blue light leaking through her dress.
“Germana?” someone said from the crowd.
“Hurry, Itrit. I alone can’t control their appetite for entertainment,” she said, pushing him hard towards the doors.
“Wait.” He stopped. “I… I think I came here with someone.”
Gods damn it, he could not think straight!
“A friend?”
“I’m not sure, but I think… my brother…” His head throbbed, growing worse the harder he tried to recall his position.
“Germana, that is you!” Someone grabbed hold of her arm and pulled her onto the dance floor. “Always the bridesmaid and never the bride!”
They laughed as the young woman slapped her pursuer.
“Itrit, get out of here!” She shouted, screaming as he seized her wrist and forced her into a dance position. “The ice planted in your heart is only the beginning! Our patron needs you on the outside; he has plans for you, but if you stay, you can never leave! It’s too late for your brother; just get out of here!”
He took one look back, and the guests were staring at him, eyes red like fire.
“Come back to the party, sir,” they said. “It’s your turn. We’ve all tried at least once.”
Itrit bolted from the room, shoving the doors aside to the sound of laughter. He ran fast, even as his head throbbed and the world spun.
There was a light just ahead of him, and he reached for it as desperately as a drowning man seeking to break the surface. The radiance engulfed him, and suddenly, he returned to his senses.
Itrit stood atop the iceberg, looking over the side to the water below, so distant it made his stomach churn. He stepped back, only now noticing something tied tightly around his neck: a noose with a rope spiked firmly into the ice.
A moment later, and he would have swung with a broken neck.
Itrit tore himself free from the rope and charged down the ice, the soft snow giving way around him and rolling into the sea. His palms sweat, and his knees shook, the voices of laughter echoing in his head. He glimpsed the boat drifting some distance ahead, no longer anchored to the shore. He dove headfirst into the frigid waters, and beneath the surface, he saw the truth of the floating glacier.
Encased in ice more solid than stone was a massive city that scraped the bottom of the sea. He could hear the metalwork creaking and see the roaring steam of industry burning within that eternal shell of glass.
Itrit broke the surface, gasping loudly and chasing after the rowboat. He threw the weight of his body against the wood, nearly capsizing the vessel as he climbed aboard and scrambled for the oars.
Something rose from the sea; a shadow of a horrific entity dwarfing the city and the skies above, multiple reflections of the moon in various stages of waxing and waning glittering above its malformed presence. It stood on gargantuan, serpentine limbs with the face of an eyeless white cat, its jaw split impossibly wide, revealing a single jewel embedded in an oval cross-section of tissue. A mere glimpse of the beast burned into his cornea like sunspots as it vanished from sight.
The world screamed, and the sea roiled, hissed, and boiled.
Itrit screamed, a fluorescent blue color glowing softly from his chest as jagged crystals erupted from his heart and penetrated his skin. He pushed through the pain, adrenaline pumping through his veins as he rowed away from the iceberg, the fog now dispersing and the blessed shores peeking out in the distance. Beads of sweat gathered along Itrit’s brow as he looked back over his shoulder.
As the Iceberg vanished across the ocean once more, he glimpsed a familiar body hanging in the wind by rope and anchor.
“Adriel, no… it can’t be,” he said, dropping the oars into the water and falling to his knees.
It turns out his brother was right about fishing all along.