Page 30 of Seven Oars (Rix Universe #3)

“Rosamma, look! Up in the sky. It’s the aurora.”

Eze pointed at the dark expanse, lit up in shimmering hues of pink and purple.

The halos danced and shifted like plumes of multi-colored smoke, casting a muted glow on the white ground.

“Oh, how fancy!”

Rosamma murmured, distracted.

They stood in a fenced, snowy field where they had landed, observing the locals dig through the containers without waiting to move them to a nearby warehouse. People pulled out carefully packed supplies and inspected them avidly.

Excitement buzzed through her system. She hadn’t been able to sleep the last few nights. Hadn’t done any reading. She was sick with wanting to see Fincros.

And now, she was here.

Megroyara.

Her new home.

Despite the bitter cold, Rosamma marveled at her feet touching the same ground Fincros walked on. They inhabited the same world for the first time.

From now on, they always would.

“If he doesn’t show up soon, I’m going to lose my nose to frostbite.”

Eze sniffed.

“Fincros?”

“No, the driver. I sure hope we won’t see Fincros behind the wheel!”

Rosamma exhaled. Her journey, it seemed, wasn’t quite over yet.

“Maybe I should go look for him?”

Rosamma said, hefting her bag, mindful of the medicine inside. She would need to arrange for refills to be sent later, but she wouldn’t worry about it right now.

“Best you stay where the driver expects to find you, or Fincros will skin him alive.”

Eze only meant as a figure of speech, but still.

Rosamma stayed put.

Finally, a vehicle on skis pulled up on the other side of the fence.

“Name’s Chet,”

Eze informed Rosamma as they walked toward the gate.

“A local character. Fincros uses him for deliveries, so he must trust him a little.”

The man exited the contraption and waited, his feet encased in heavy fur boots. He nodded at Eze, eyes downcast, opening and closing his hands in oversized mittens.

“That her?”

he asked without looking at Rosamma.

“Yes, this is Rosamma. Come on, don’t just stand there like a tree.”

Eze bossed him around, motioning to the bag. Chet took it and loaded it into the back of his vehicle.

“Well, this is it.”

Eze turned to her.

“I can’t go past the fence. Goodbye, Rosamma. And good luck.”

They hugged.

“We will meet again, Eze. We have to!”

“Won’t say we won’t.”

Eze smiled her shy little smile.

“Get that Rix sorted out first.”

Eze jogged back to the freighter, fleeing the cold and unwilling to drag out their goodbyes.

It was for the best. Everything would work itself out.

Rosamma felt at peace.

She went through the gate and climbed into the contraption—a cross between a truck and a snowmobile. As Chet got it moving, the soft top started flapping in the wind, letting blasts of cold air inside.

“This truck looks custom-made,”

Rosamma remarked to break the ice with Chet while ducking away from the worst of the draft.

“I made it myself,”

he replied with pride, confirming Rosamma’s guess.

“We’ve got no industry on Megroyara. Though they opened a textile shop just the other week, so now we can make fabric from the sea-worm larvae.”

She had to strain to follow his colloquial version of Universal.

At first, because of his craggy face—and especially the ears sticking out from beneath his fur hat—Rosamma assumed he was a Tarai alien. But when he smiled, she realized he was human. An older man, weather-beaten, he looked as rough and unyielding as the landscape of this harsh place.

“That’s wonderful.”

Rosamma snuggled deeper into Eze’s parka, a more than welcome hand-me-down. Even then, what had seemed overly warm on the freighter was now barely adequate.

Chet noticed.

“It’s a bit fresh, but you get used to it.”

They drove through a patch of woods that loomed dark and forbidding in the darkness and emerged… on a seashore.

The road ran alongside a cliff, and beneath them, a mighty ocean spread far and wide, its dark waters rippling under the aurora. The shimmering colors reflected in muted glints on wave crests. White surf lapped lazily at the rocky beach, washing off patches of snow. Chunks of ice bobbed on the swells. It was cold, deep, awe-inspiring—and alive. Beautifully, hauntingly so.

“The main town’s built on the shore,”

Chet said, pushing aside the tarp covering the “window”.

Rosamma caught a blast of snow from the ski square in her face.

“I see.”

She moved the flap quietly back into place, but not before catching a glimpse.

The “town”

was a cluster of squat log cabins, varying in size, set low to the ground. Lights glowed in thick windows. The air smelled of woodsmoke.

“Behind the town are the White Fields,”

Chet said.

“Then the mountains. I’m taking you to the mountains, where the Rix lives.”

They passed the town and skied across the open tundra of the White Fields. Rosamma peeked through a slit in the flap. Gentle, rolling hills stretched ahead, blanketed in snow.

Megroyara’s cold was rough but dreamy. Hypnotic. It held the beauty of a dark fairy tale, awash in the shifting glow from its northern lights.

Chet stopped at the bottom of the hill.

It has started snowing.

Rosamma looked up at the forest-encased mountain ahead, where a trail vanished into the trees. Bluish green evergreens loomed above, forbidding. The wind picked up, shaking their shaggy branches.

“That’s it. That’s the end of the road,”

Chet said.

She glanced questioningly at him.

“It’s too narrow from here on up, and…”

“And what?”

He exhaled a puff of mist.

“Can’t go up in the rig.”

She looked again at the mountain and the dense, heavy trees wrapping it like fur.

“Then I guess I walk the rest of the way.”

Chet nodded and spat on the ground.

Rosamma thanked him and took the bag he untied from the back.

“Listen, I don’t mean to give advice, but… are you sure about going up there?”

She glanced at the white groove of trail snaking upward.

“It’s just a forest.”

“And he’s just a friendly neighborhood lumberjack. Hell… I’m just saying.”

Rosamma smiled at him.

“I’ll be fine.”

He rummaged in the truck.

“Here. You can return it later.”

Rosamma accepted the small flashlight.

“Thank you.”

Adjusting the hood of her parka against the wind, she hefted her bag, waved at Chet, and started walking.

The snow was deeper than she’d expected—her feet sank almost to the tops of her short boots.

“Hey, I’ll wait here for a bit,”

Chet called.

“Holler if you need help.”

“I will!”

she called back. It was pointless. The trees would swallow any sound. Chet knew it, too, but she figured he felt responsible.

Following the trail, she entered the forest. It was quieter here and not as windy. Under the trees, the snow wasn’t as deep.

But it was blindingly dark.

The beautiful auroras that lit the open skies cast only a dim glow under the evergreen canopies. The trees rose like thick walls on both sides of the trail, groaning and creaking as if alive. She didn’t want to be afraid, but she was. Cold and afraid.

She fumbled with the flashlight, casting the thin beam on the trail ahead. She focused on it, blocking everything else from her mind. She kept walking, climbing the incline, getting closer and closer to him.

Suddenly, it got easier to see.

Blinking frost from her lashes, Rosamma looked down.

On either side of the path, small spheres of muted blue light glowed under the snow, spaced evenly along the trail. It was built in, intentional. Designed for someone who relied on regular vision to find their way.

An invitation.

Guided by the lights, Rosamma chuffed onward, her boots leaving deep tracks in the snow.

An overburdened branch dumped a heap of snow on her as she passed under it. She jumped, then laughed at herself. Beating her hood to shake off the white stuff, she coughed from the cold air…

And saw him.

He stood ahead, blocking the trail, a tall man, powerfully built. He wore heavy boots and a lightweight jacket, his Rix body at ease with the harsh winter. The wind moved his loose hair, shorter now, revealing the burn scars and the trisected eyebrow she loved to trace with her lips.

Her legs lost support, and she nearly folded into the snow. Her frozen hands shook, and the flashlight beam caught him in the face. His ruined eyes flashed red—a ghoulish sight.

“What are you holding?”

he asked matter-of-factly, as if they had seen each other just that morning.

“A flashlight.”

“Can’t you see the path without it?”

“Yes. It’s well lit, thank you. I wonder why my driver wouldn’t go all the way up.”

Rosamma turned off the flashlight, glancing at the wide path.

“Chet? The dumbfuck is afraid of me,”

he said with disgust.

“Everyone is afraid of you.”

“You aren’t.”

“I used to be.”

“Smart.”

She gazed at him, feeling the bite of the wind on her unprotected face. Her nose was slowly losing feeling.

“It’s cold out here, Finn,”

she said quietly.

“It’s always cold out here, Rosamma. Cold and dark.”

It was a warning.

It was her last chance to change her mind.

She took a deep breath that burned her lungs.

“Do you have a warm house for me?”

“I do.”

“Well, then…”

She wanted to shout, but only a broken whisper emerged, “Honey, I’m home.”

He opened his arms.