The Frozen Man
You find yourself experiencing everything that has ever happened. You experience the past from the perspectives of everyone who ever lived. In an instant, you live through several hundreds of trillions of lives, from the lives of the most inconsequential individuals to the lives of mythical heroes you had only heard of in legend. You can perceive their feelings. It's like you are every single one of them and all of them at the same time. All the joy, sadness, fear, hope and pain of those lives blend together into an unrecognizable mess of emotion.
Most of the lives do not leave much of an impact on you but the life of a gifted boy seems to linger in your mind longer than the rest.
Most of the lives do not leave much of an impact on you but the life of a gifted boy seems to linger in your mind longer than the rest.
On Barsalesse, the saying goes that the closer to the oceans one goes the more welcoming the people are. Normally, Hellbrem would have been the prodigal example of this. The tiny coastal city, housing fewer than twenty thousand souls, was normally an exceptionally jolly place. Most of the people worked as farmers during the day and drank themselves silly and made merry at night. Fulfilling another stereotype about coasterners, most Hellbremens past the age of twelve knew their ways down a tall glass of ale. Normally, at his time of the day, all but the most hardworking of officials and the most hardened drinkers would have been fast asleep on their hammocks. Unfortunately, this day was not normal.
The first peculiarity of the day was that it was dark out. The city hadn’t had a dark day for the past two months, which isn’t too surprising for this part of the world. Excuse the usage of the word day; with two suns constantly patrolling the sky in shifts normally, the concept of “night” seemed to never be relevant enough to get its own name other than “dark day”.
The second peculiarity of the day was that no one was sleeping. The streets were alive with the erratic marching of feet. Smoke filled the air as the streets were dimly illuminated by torchlight. The normally peaceful and scarcely occupied streets were congested with various groups of people marching in a cacophonous unison from street corner to street corner, storming through every alley on the way, turning it upside-down then moving on to the next. The noise of objects being smashed against each other, footsteps and unintelligible yelling blended together to create a thick wall of sound that permeated the entire town. Even the few who had remained in their homes where hopelessly subjected to this auditory bombardment.
“Show yourself demon!” one man yelled out at the top of his lungs, almost loud enough to be heard more than a few feet around him. Almost.
The groups worked their way around the city, occasionally bursting into housed that seemed out of the ordinary – ordinary being relative. More specifically, they were following something, the cold. Any direction that seemed colder than the last was the direction the mob would take. Of course, temperature is a sensation easily manipulated by minds doped with adrenaline.
As one of the groups tore through one particularly non-descript alley, one of the men to the back of the group, in a fit of exhausting, leaned on the door to a small hut to support himself as he rested and was surprised to feel the chill on his shoulder.
“In here!” the man shouted but there was no one close enough to hear him. Undeterred, the man put his hands on the doorknob, which was even colder, and twisted it. The door swung open without any trouble and the man burst into the house alone.
The inside of the house was substantially colder than the outside; there was no mistaking this. The house consisted of only two room, a living room, and a bedroom. He has in the living room but has he ventured closer to the bedroom the temperature got colder. The man was cautious, as cautious as he could have been considering he came alone. Stepped up to the door and kicked it open. Slowly, the surveyed the bedroom. He need not have been so meticulous in his search to have noticed that there seemed to have been some sort of clear white substance around the handle of the wardrobe. He walked slowly to the door. With every step, the ambient temperature seemed to drop. He eventually got to the wardrobe and slipped his hand on the handle, touching the substance. From a distance, it wasn’t clear what the substance had been but up close it was evidently clear – ice.
The realization studded him for a second and in that second the wardrobe bust open, staggering the man back, and a boy, hunched down, lunged at the man’s legs. The man too slow to react was helpless to defend himself as the boy’s hand wrapped around his ankle. It might have been an instant, a minute, an hour, an eternity, to the man it meant no difference, but before he knew it, his leg, from above the knee to the sole was ice. Not frozen, it had become a solid block of ice in the exact shape of his leg. As the boy let go, the man tried to take a step back but unable to flex his knees tripped on himself and fell to the ground. The man slammed hard as he fell and the ice attached to his body shattered. It took a second for the man to comprehend what had happened and a little longer than that for the pain to kick in but, once it did, the man could do nothing but scream. He grasped at the ice stump where his leg was once attached to his body but there was nothing he could do to alleviate the pain.
The boy propped himself up from the ground as the man screamed in front of him. The place where his hands had made contact with the ground had also been turned into a patch of ice. The boy ran out the room and into the alley, being careful to ensure no one was around as he did so.
The boy ran through the city leaving streaks of white dust in the air as the air around him turned to ice in his hands. The boy, no older than sixteen, was dressed in a long robe that flapped in the wind as he ran through the town.
He never asked for this. He had been a normal boy just a few days before, playing with his friends and living the merry coastal life. He could have never predicted that he would wake up one morning on a hammock of ice and become an outcast from his people. He hated the situation but he did not hate the people chasing him. He had been raised on stories of evil beings with demonic abilities. They were the enemies of the gods that appeared to spread falsehoods and destroy good. They were meant to be eradicated lest the gods smite the entire land to purify it. This wasn’t a myth. The boy had heard rumors of a nearby town disappearing overnight after harboring one of these evil beings, someone like him. He couldn’t blame his pursuers because if the roles had been reversed he would have likely done the same thing.
Regardless, this was the hand he had been dealt and he wanted to live. The boy darted from street to street as quickly as his legs would carry him. He made sure to run away from any sounds that vaguely resembled shouting. When his chest began to tighten from the exhaustion he found a dark alley and stooped over in its deepest recess.
As he sat contemplating his life and slowly sobbing, the wind changed direction and pushed the cold air he was producing down towards a mob of people. He didn’t know it at the time but he had been had. As the chilling wing flushed through the mob, the people's attention was focused on the same direction. All the groups hurried towards the boy, searching every crevice on the way. Hearing the sound of the mob gaining on him the boy tried to leave his alley and continue his run but it was already too late. As he stuck his head out, the boy noticed a group of people was lingering outside the alley staring right at him.
“He’s over there!” one man noticed his outline.
The entire mob then charged towards the alley, forcing the boy to back into it. He was now cornered. The people at the front of the mob erected a barricade of pitchforks pointed radially toward the boy. They slowly moved forward as the boy slowly moved back.
“Demon! Just die!” One woman exclaimed.
The boy stood defensively with his hand in front of him. “I’m not evil! I swear!” he replied.
“Liar! You must die!” The woman continued.
The boy didn’t say anything else. The mob just continued to back him to end of the alley. When he was as far as he cared to move down the alley the boy made a break for it. He lunges into the crowd just under the pitchforks and tried to claw his way through the crowd. He froze one man’s leg and another woman’s arm but he was soon held down by the mob. They were careful not to touch his hands.
“Now you die and we can begin appeasing the gods.” The leader of the mob walked up with the lance in hand. He aimed the lance at the boy’s heart and lunged it forward.
It is hard to explain what happened next. You might say his resolve to live pushed him past his capability, or maybe the power itself refused to be killed in this way. Regardless of the explanation, the boy began to freeze – everything from the ground around him, to the people surrounding him, to the buildings. His freezing spread across the entire town. Before most people realized what was going on they were already ice. The freezing went from mob to mob and continued going. During this process, the ice around the boy’s hands had been extending around his body. The further the freezing spread across the town, the further the ice encased his body. As the entire town became ice, the boy’s body became completely embedded in a shell of ice. It was at this point the freezing stopped, as the boy, inevitably, died.
The first peculiarity of the day was that it was dark out. The city hadn’t had a dark day for the past two months, which isn’t too surprising for this part of the world. Excuse the usage of the word day; with two suns constantly patrolling the sky in shifts normally, the concept of “night” seemed to never be relevant enough to get its own name other than “dark day”.
The second peculiarity of the day was that no one was sleeping. The streets were alive with the erratic marching of feet. Smoke filled the air as the streets were dimly illuminated by torchlight. The normally peaceful and scarcely occupied streets were congested with various groups of people marching in a cacophonous unison from street corner to street corner, storming through every alley on the way, turning it upside-down then moving on to the next. The noise of objects being smashed against each other, footsteps and unintelligible yelling blended together to create a thick wall of sound that permeated the entire town. Even the few who had remained in their homes where hopelessly subjected to this auditory bombardment.
“Show yourself demon!” one man yelled out at the top of his lungs, almost loud enough to be heard more than a few feet around him. Almost.
The groups worked their way around the city, occasionally bursting into housed that seemed out of the ordinary – ordinary being relative. More specifically, they were following something, the cold. Any direction that seemed colder than the last was the direction the mob would take. Of course, temperature is a sensation easily manipulated by minds doped with adrenaline.
As one of the groups tore through one particularly non-descript alley, one of the men to the back of the group, in a fit of exhausting, leaned on the door to a small hut to support himself as he rested and was surprised to feel the chill on his shoulder.
“In here!” the man shouted but there was no one close enough to hear him. Undeterred, the man put his hands on the doorknob, which was even colder, and twisted it. The door swung open without any trouble and the man burst into the house alone.
The inside of the house was substantially colder than the outside; there was no mistaking this. The house consisted of only two room, a living room, and a bedroom. He has in the living room but has he ventured closer to the bedroom the temperature got colder. The man was cautious, as cautious as he could have been considering he came alone. Stepped up to the door and kicked it open. Slowly, the surveyed the bedroom. He need not have been so meticulous in his search to have noticed that there seemed to have been some sort of clear white substance around the handle of the wardrobe. He walked slowly to the door. With every step, the ambient temperature seemed to drop. He eventually got to the wardrobe and slipped his hand on the handle, touching the substance. From a distance, it wasn’t clear what the substance had been but up close it was evidently clear – ice.
The realization studded him for a second and in that second the wardrobe bust open, staggering the man back, and a boy, hunched down, lunged at the man’s legs. The man too slow to react was helpless to defend himself as the boy’s hand wrapped around his ankle. It might have been an instant, a minute, an hour, an eternity, to the man it meant no difference, but before he knew it, his leg, from above the knee to the sole was ice. Not frozen, it had become a solid block of ice in the exact shape of his leg. As the boy let go, the man tried to take a step back but unable to flex his knees tripped on himself and fell to the ground. The man slammed hard as he fell and the ice attached to his body shattered. It took a second for the man to comprehend what had happened and a little longer than that for the pain to kick in but, once it did, the man could do nothing but scream. He grasped at the ice stump where his leg was once attached to his body but there was nothing he could do to alleviate the pain.
The boy propped himself up from the ground as the man screamed in front of him. The place where his hands had made contact with the ground had also been turned into a patch of ice. The boy ran out the room and into the alley, being careful to ensure no one was around as he did so.
The boy ran through the city leaving streaks of white dust in the air as the air around him turned to ice in his hands. The boy, no older than sixteen, was dressed in a long robe that flapped in the wind as he ran through the town.
He never asked for this. He had been a normal boy just a few days before, playing with his friends and living the merry coastal life. He could have never predicted that he would wake up one morning on a hammock of ice and become an outcast from his people. He hated the situation but he did not hate the people chasing him. He had been raised on stories of evil beings with demonic abilities. They were the enemies of the gods that appeared to spread falsehoods and destroy good. They were meant to be eradicated lest the gods smite the entire land to purify it. This wasn’t a myth. The boy had heard rumors of a nearby town disappearing overnight after harboring one of these evil beings, someone like him. He couldn’t blame his pursuers because if the roles had been reversed he would have likely done the same thing.
Regardless, this was the hand he had been dealt and he wanted to live. The boy darted from street to street as quickly as his legs would carry him. He made sure to run away from any sounds that vaguely resembled shouting. When his chest began to tighten from the exhaustion he found a dark alley and stooped over in its deepest recess.
As he sat contemplating his life and slowly sobbing, the wind changed direction and pushed the cold air he was producing down towards a mob of people. He didn’t know it at the time but he had been had. As the chilling wing flushed through the mob, the people's attention was focused on the same direction. All the groups hurried towards the boy, searching every crevice on the way. Hearing the sound of the mob gaining on him the boy tried to leave his alley and continue his run but it was already too late. As he stuck his head out, the boy noticed a group of people was lingering outside the alley staring right at him.
“He’s over there!” one man noticed his outline.
The entire mob then charged towards the alley, forcing the boy to back into it. He was now cornered. The people at the front of the mob erected a barricade of pitchforks pointed radially toward the boy. They slowly moved forward as the boy slowly moved back.
“Demon! Just die!” One woman exclaimed.
The boy stood defensively with his hand in front of him. “I’m not evil! I swear!” he replied.
“Liar! You must die!” The woman continued.
The boy didn’t say anything else. The mob just continued to back him to end of the alley. When he was as far as he cared to move down the alley the boy made a break for it. He lunges into the crowd just under the pitchforks and tried to claw his way through the crowd. He froze one man’s leg and another woman’s arm but he was soon held down by the mob. They were careful not to touch his hands.
“Now you die and we can begin appeasing the gods.” The leader of the mob walked up with the lance in hand. He aimed the lance at the boy’s heart and lunged it forward.
It is hard to explain what happened next. You might say his resolve to live pushed him past his capability, or maybe the power itself refused to be killed in this way. Regardless of the explanation, the boy began to freeze – everything from the ground around him, to the people surrounding him, to the buildings. His freezing spread across the entire town. Before most people realized what was going on they were already ice. The freezing went from mob to mob and continued going. During this process, the ice around the boy’s hands had been extending around his body. The further the freezing spread across the town, the further the ice encased his body. As the entire town became ice, the boy’s body became completely embedded in a shell of ice. It was at this point the freezing stopped, as the boy, inevitably, died.
Centuries past and the frozen town never thawed. It never mattered how hot it got; the ice stayed solid and frozen. Nobody knew what had happened to the town and eventually, people just began to assume that it had always been this way. This location became historically known as one of the wonders of the world, alongside locations like the Flying City of Pan.
It became known as the City of Ice.
It became known as the City of Ice.