A huff of laughter, like smoke clouds come billow from the top of cook-fires, fed a fresh drop of fat that'd been set to sizzle. "Zif a 'til needs pen to steal the words," he winked to the greying man. Stroked his beard with knobby fingers. "Nay, but the story begs to be told, stolen as it might yet be,"

Without a word, Yenles poured Jeb another thimble of the clear drink. Its smell swirled between them, as if a curtain of snow kicked up from the floor come a strong breeze.

"To those who tol' it 'for us, and for those who'll tell it come more," he lifted the little drink up. "Might they tell it with but a shred of truth, so that the new may learn from what was, and what was may live on in the new,"

Aise smiled soft, as Yenles filled her cup, then offered another pour to the til.
 
Plates clattered and people shifted out of their seats, as the communal meal came to a close. Mothers put their children to bed in the corners of the long hall, where reed mats and furs were laid out. The storm rattled stranger against the hall's exterior, a keen white wail singing through the rafters.

Yenles and Aise had quieted down to hear Jeb's tale, and this time Merle recognized the weight of the exchange.

He pushed his cup forward, and let the Lapvonans pour him another drink.
 
With the pour of the cup, the man named Jeb clinked glasses with the table, and took down the drink. All cold fire come wash across his throat and fill his stomach with heat.

"Cold was the night, and biting was the frost, so much so that the wind did howl and the snow set to dance to the mad song of the cloud's music," the big man went on, eyes wide so there icy blues caught the fire's light, and the howl of the wind could be heard over the cheer of the longhouse. "Then was a time, much like this night, then was a night, where so many gathered, round fire, round drink, round food and song, to help keep the spirits of frost and ice at bay," he mimed a little dance, and his voice was song, lilt and fall, and sure. "To all the cheer of the gathered dear, the frost fairies and ice toadlets came round, bunched by the windows, swept down the chimney, and snuck neath the door, and any crack they had found," he pointed to each spot in turn.

"What's this, what's this," he croaked and grinned. "What's this? what's this?" he shrilled and laughed. "But a bunch of the temp folk, dancin in the dark, having a prance, but not one said good welcome, not one said join in the dance," his eyes twinkled dark. "So up to their tricks, the fairies did get, up to their pranks, the toadlets hopped on, and trips and slips and souls taken with missed sips," he raised a cup up to the 'til once more, to spy him across the round of the rim, all tooth and grin and glee. "Till none but they of the long lasting could stand to cheer so near to the winter's cold, all those nights long told,"
 
How pleasant the fire was, rising in his chest. The heat of the cold, pale drink worked its magic through him, a balm more ancient than any alchemist's brew. As the story wove around them, Merle could see the faeries gathering to peak inside -- a swirl of frost and snow tapping at the windows, clawing curiously underneath the doors.

And eventually, ignored by the common folk, the cold crept in and wicked every soul out. What a grim tale.

"But that's hardly fair," the drink had Merle blurting out. "How were the mortal kith to know, if the fairies never introduced themselves? A proper knock on the door would have done well enough to let them in."
 
"Fair," Jeb chuffed. "Fair as the day the first settler took axe to the trees, or cleared ground with rake of iron plow," a laugh, down in the coils of a man. "Fair is as fair does, master Til, dont'chu forget, these walls," a loop round with loose finger. "done stand where no walls were meant to stand," the finger plunged down, finger's bone plunked onto the worn wood. "This table, set where ancients rose taller'n any old cabin,"

The rest of the room had come still. Warmth of fire. Pulse of heart. Frozen behind a curtain of pallid blue. The fire, mists of white and sparks of snowfall, caught on howling breeze.

"Set out, what you would to keep these places warm, so those who'd have it cold be given gentle welcome," his eyes glowered with the frost only a glacier could know. "Might then, their snap of diamond dust comes powder soft, nay wall of ancient ice crushing through," a snap of finger.

The cold was gone from the room. Aise happily sipping from her cup. Yenles checking to see if there was any more in the bottle. "Another round?"
 
There was something about Jeb that irked Merle. Maybe it was his unkempt beard, or those darkling eyes that always seemed to be looking for the next cruelty. Maybe it was because the other villagers acted like Goode Jeb was always part of the village, though he had no cousins nor wife, and nobody could point towards where the scarecrow of an old man might keep his hearth.

No, Merle decided. It was because he was a know-it-all.

Funny trick of the light Jeb did just then, talking of glaciers and diamond dust. Summoned a chill that cut through Merle's cotton clothes, then skin and flesh and soul. Before he could fear his digits falling off, it was banished again with a snap of bony fingers. It reminded Merle of the master weavers in the tower, using the shroud to prove a point. And much like then, Merle reverted back to his insolent days as a student.

"Let's see who's at the door, first," he said to Yenles. The Lapvonan gave him a funny quirk of barely-there red brows. With a sniff of nose and gathering of coat, Merle went to the squat doors of the long hall. Pulled them open, and a drift of snow immediately curled up at his feet.

"Hey! Do any of you snow folk want to come in for a drink?" He shouted at the stormy dark. He waited nearly half a minute as the wind deepened the red on his face. Only the distant clink of shell against bone met him. Those effigies the villagers erected at the edge of town.
 
And like the tongue of a hungry dog come slathering, the room filled with a cold and heartless wind.

All came to rime.

All came to frost.

Glittering, diamond, blue.

Even the flame. Turned blue.

And there amidst it all, sat Jeb. Twisted brow, and cracked smile. Fingers steepled before him like a thing that did, in fact, know it all.

"You left no offering, Master Til," a rumble of laughter through the bones as the good people Jannaskaro glittered and shined with the pale glow of moons and stars.
 
The wind was not of this world. With all his strength, Merle couldn't close the doors again. He'd invited something in. It had accepted his invitation. Cold terror seeped in to his bones and made him brittle. The laughter that rolled over him, relentless, nearly shattered him.

It did not melt away, this time.

There were mantras against illusion magic that all crown officials had to memorize. Merle picked one and began humming it, deep in his chest, hoping the drone would provide some warmth.

I am of Ghanga, who gives us the stars, whose light touches all kingdoms.

A parade of strange and motley things tumbled in from the cold, short and tall. A gangly, long-eared ogre ducked its shaggy head and folded long limbs through the door. Several chattering frost folk, all chestnut hair and gossamer wings, wove around Merle's legs, coming up no taller than his knees. They were dressed like nobles back from a hunt, except in miniature. So convincing was the scene, that Merle half expected to see the rat-sized boar they'd surely caught.

Fear and falsehood obscure the path. Constellations chart truth. I gaze at the light which guides through turbid waters.

A timber wolf - just an ordinary wolf, by most sightings - flashed its yellow eyes at him in a long drawn stare. Turned silently away, and stalked deeper into the hall.

I, Ghanga, gaze at the light--

The faerie creatures cared little for the frozen bodies that they had to step around to get to their seats. They filled the hall with an impatience to their movements, as if they'd been waiting a long time to get in. A bat-winged beast scratched its way up one of the rafters in its excitement. Another, some warty toad-thing, tried to balance a wooden spoon on Aise's nose. And all the while, that blue flame flickered dimmer, and the hall grew colder.

I, Ghanga--

"Damnit, cut that out," Merle snapped at the toad. He strode over to the table and snatched the spoon from its webbed hands. "She's done nothing to you."
 
A click of the teeth and a pat of the bench saw the timber wolf stalk over to Jeb's side. Big lolling tongue come lick the side of his wiry beared, and the man with his gnarled knuckles pat and scruffled the dread hound.

All their breath swirled with mist. All the ice, creaked the more.

All their ears, deaf to the noble Til's noble plea.

"Did nay yer ma teach ye not ta snatch a thing as a guest is handlin it?" a tut of tongue, in time with easy pats for the big, hungry eyed wolf.

The bat thing screeched from its perch, and the little hunt of nobles hopped up onto the table, wings all a flutter and buzz, and tried to work down the heavy jug, frozen in Yenles once warm and meaty claw.
The fire grew colder. And colder. Dimmer, and dimmer.

"Suppose I shouldnae be surprised by it, what within ye take and ye take, fair Til, but what in is it that ya give?" a laugh. One last pat of the wolf's head. "Oy, mind the toes, Ornov,"Jeb spat at the long eared ogre, crowding into the table upon which they all seemed to sit.

Perilously close to poor Yenles and Aise. Frozen as they were.
 
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