Coldmaker(28)

A pleasant tingle slipped around my chest, clouding my skin with delight. The cool air filtered in from the chamber exactly as I’d hoped, and the feeling was unbelievable. Even better than I could have hoped for. I forgot the pain of my burned cheek, and the thirst in my soul, everything replaced with pure Cold. My lips begged to turn up at the edges, but I didn’t dare show any joy.

I paused, waiting for claws to pop out of the sands to drag me under. Or for a giant piece of Cold to soar down, straight at my head, knocking the life out of my skull.

But nothing happened, except an ecstatic deepening of the Cold.

I couldn’t believe it, but the Wrap was a success. My smile broke free, and in that moment, it was almost as if the sands were parting at my feet and revealing my future.

I was an Inventor.

I gave another hard twist, and the rest of the Wisp cracked. The Cold was now rapturous, flooding my body with deep tingles. I drank Wisps in water every day, but this felt different; this felt unhinged, and ancient. And a part of me never wanted it to end.

And then my skin realized it wasn’t used to the temperature, and began arguing against the change. I tried to calm myself with deep breaths so I might continue to enjoy the moment, but the stitches on the fabric were straining tight. The cool air was filling up faster than I’d expected, too concentrated, burning my skin with a new sort of fire. My lungs strained as the waxy layers continued to tighten, the prison of Cold constricting my breath.

I managed to wriggle free from my shirt, but as much as I clawed and prised, the Wrap wouldn’t come off. I tried to breathe, but the pressure was becoming too much, my body unable to break from its hold.

I knew this couldn’t possibly all be coming from a single Wisp, and dread filled my entire body.

The Crier was angry, and he was going to kill me with my own invention.

Only then did I understand that I should have built some sort of proper release. Abb had taught me to sew too well. I flipped open the cap to the chamber, trying to let the Cold have an escape that way, but I’d installed a one-way flap inside to protect against just that.

My fingernails only slid helplessly across the waxy fabric as I struggled to breathe.

I was about to drop to my knees and beg the Crier for forgiveness, when I heard a sound from behind me, a soft padding through the sands.

The Crier had finally sent His spirits to whisk me away.

I spun around, but I was met by a Jadan face.

I would have cried out, had I had any air left to give.

The Upright Girl struggled towards me over the dunes, using her hands to keep her balance. Her back was still rod straight, but she looked more like the rest of us as she scrambled to reach me, her ankles struggling against the sand.

When she finally came over to me, she dug a hand into her braided hair and pulled out a thin metal blade, half of it wrapped in boilweed for a makeshift handle.

I squeezed in another thin breath as she stabbed.

At the last moment, her hand shot sideways, the tip of the blade slicing across the belly of the Wrap. The material made a popping sound, and Cold air spilled through the slit as fast as it could. The girl’s ruffled braid blew back, revealing an impressed look on her face.

I gasped heavily. The Cold had bitten my skin, and I knew I’d have something of a rash – but the Crier had let me live.

The girl sheathed the knife back in her locks and stepped close, so much so that I flinched, not expecting the proximity. Without a word, she reached for the fabric at my chest, but I couldn’t feel her touch, as my skin had gone numb.

She tested her fingers gently on her cheek. ‘Wisp?’

I nodded, still trying to catch my breath.

‘Where’d you steal it?’ she asked, as if two Jadans meeting on top of a sand dune in the middle of the night – one of them wearing Cold – was completely normal.

‘Give me a second,’ I said, expelling what was left of the chilled air in my lungs, my heart settling to a reasonable pace. My body was tingling from the experience, not used to something so opposite from the Sun.

The Upright Girl watched me recuperate, keeping quiet. She was half a head shorter than me, but only because I had the advantage of the Rope Shoes. The starlight trickling onto her face showed hazel eyes, bright and defiant.

Something was very different about her. And it wasn’t just her rigid posture. She didn’t have the sallow complexion so many of us had, nor the hunger-sunken, ashen cheeks. Her skin was dark like mine, but its texture was smooth, almost glowing. She looked … alive.

She crossed her arms over her chest, her intense gaze boring into mine. ‘You had a Wisp in there. So why didn’t you take that Shiver?’ she asked. ‘From the rubbish pile.’

My chest heaved up and down. ‘That’s your first question?’

‘It’s what I want to know. Unless there are other things you want to talk about …’ And then she smiled.

It wasn’t the same beautiful way a Noble girl might smile, all dolled up with red gloss and teeth clean of food.

It was the smile of someone who knew more than I did.

I was enamoured, and couldn’t think of what to say.

From the way my father talked of past loves, or even the way Joon bragged over evening rations, I’d have thought being entranced by a girl would be pleasant, but my brain was completely frazzled by Cold, and my body was too distracted with awkward squirming to appreciate the moment. In fact, I don’t remember ever feeling so uncomfortable.