Ruet Arctic

Lighting the small stove--nearly useless in this environment for warmth, as he had learned--Samuel warmed up the prepared meals he had packed. Heating some foodstuffs, such as the chocolate bars and dried fruits, still felt strange to him. It was quite necessary though; the freezing temperatures could make any unprotected object hard as stone--his teeth could attest to that.

The meal was light, designed to nourish the body rather than the senses. Dried fruits preserved with what vitamins and fiber could be sealed within them, protein rich meats (again dried and preserved), chocolate heavy in sugars, some sort of cracker with the more complex carbohydrates, and a foul starchy beverage meant to fill in the gaps. It would have been a little more satisfying if it wasn't for his visitor on the first day: a bold weasel had made off with the few pieces of fresh fruit and meat he had packed.

Gnawing on the half-frozen jerky, he contemplated the situation. Tomorrow the Ritual of Thule would be finished and he could finally leave. Move onto a study of something warm...volcanism or such. Maybe he could finish the ritual now and get a head start on returning, even if he got too tired, nothing would hurt a half-prepared circle in this place.

Popping the latches on a tough, iron-bound case, Samuel started his preparations. At the first point of the star he placed a sand timer in the trench. "Chronos," he uttered, then walked to the next point. Striking a match, he lit a small flare, dropping it at the next point, "Pyros." A Lyden Jar at the next, "Tempos." A glass prism, "Solaros." A rough and uncut lodestone, "Magnos." He dropped no object at the next point, but instead made a series of deliberate gestures, ending with a single word, "Ethos." Reaching the final point, he removed a heavy glove from his right hand. Bringing a knife from the recesses of his coat, he made a shallow gash across his palm in a practiced movement, "Vivos."

He had performed similar rituals twice before. Once in a circle prepared for him when the magic was first bonded to his life, and once under the supervision of his mentor to gain the illusions of shadow-magic. The steady guidance during the latter, and dozens of trial runs in preparation had paid off; none of the symbols had been rejected. Another day would be unnecessary.

Kneeling, Samuel placed his bare hand against this ice. A soft glow of blue lit up the circle, starting at the other six points and crawling toward him. Chanting a few words, his body stiffened as he released his life force. The redness of life energy twisted into the blue of ice magic. And at that moment the weasel visitor decided to make another incursion.

Danger! Predator! Hunted! Tunnel? Safety? Fox! Food? Death! Chased! Escape? The ermine shot through the camp, eyes hunting for safety. The arctic fox was still behind him and much too close. Warmer ground. Maybe burrow? Fire! Danger! But the footfalls of the approaching vulpine outdid the threat of flame.

As he approached, the expected heat of a flame did not manifest, and with the threat of canid fangs, a little strange light was a preferable option. The strange fire did make itself noticed: a bit of fur would start sticking out here, the air would seem to crackle there. The atmosphere was warm and damp to his flesh, almost living, though his nose told him it was as frozen dry as everything else. There was no time to contemplate it though, after only a few body-lengths in, the circle fell dark.

Some force took hold, trying to pull his feet from the ground. He ended up tripping over his own feet and now faced the oncoming fox. Soft fur, much like the ermine's own, concealed the fierce fang and claw of a larger predator. Black eyes, darker than a starless night, locked their gaze onto the ermine's flesh. Again the force grabbed control of his limbs, too scared to resist this time, the ermine let the unknown force control him.

His fore-paws moved in quick measured gestures, accompanied by a strange sound with east gesture. A slight itch ran through him as tufts of fur here and there stood on end. While chilled by the arctic winds along the rest of his body, his paws felt warm, as if from basking in sunlight. Small fragments of dirt and ice started to form tiny rings around him. Then with a final gesture and a few throat-abrading sounds, the dust scattered.

A terrible rumble filled the air, and the head of a lizard--but many times too large--seemed to burst from the ground. A black smoke rising from its mouth contrasted against the glistening teeth. The ermine could not move, for all terrifying signals pulling at the instinctive flight, not a muscle would respond. However the fox was under no such constraint; it took only seconds to vanish into the tundra.

The dragon too was gone; the image faded a bit, then disappeared in a scattering of smoke and dust. Looking around, the ermine saw only a slumped human and a few small packs--one of which he remembered relieving of some fruits--and a few strange bits of metal. A voice in his mind provided strange names like "butane torch" and "brief case" for them. For a moment inquisitiveness got the better of him, and he tried forming the sounds himself.

Two thoughts competed in his head, one normal wanting to return to finding food and a warm shelter, and one foreign trying to pull him to one edge of the circle in which he stood. "Food," the thought promised, though barren ground was all he could see. "Safety," it offered, though no burrow or hidden nook was to be seen.

Winning the battle was the famed mustelid curiosity. The unmoving human body gave him pause, but his nose assured that it was quite unliving. As he gave in the foreign thoughts took more control, making him nip his own paw and dripping blood into the depression and the strange fires lit up again. Taking on a strange tone, his voice gave out a few strange sounds.

His paw was like solid ice, followed by the foreleg and spreading throughout his body. Trying to move and look around, he saw...himself...stiffly lying, a miniature furry replica of the human sitting before twisting bands of blue and red intertwining tighter and tighter. The foreign thoughts tried to pull him toward the still human. No! Danger! Control! He was a predator, he was fierce, the thoughts would submit to him, or be consumed by him. A fox was to be feared; an errant mindset had no teeth, no claws.

The combined stripes of color started to pull back, seemingly sucked through the troughs in the ground into the waiting paw. Before any of it could be comprehended he was back, lifting his paw from the frozen ground. He was struck motionless for a moment as strange thoughts permeated his mind, memories of burrows made from tree branches, lands where snow never fell, strange sounds that were equated with physical objects.

Food? Shelter? He still could find nothing of the sort in sight, until the strange thoughts started joining with his own. To get food, he needed only to break winter's grasp on the soil. Placing a paw on the ground, warmth boiled up inside him and the frozen surface thawed. A small shrub in the thawed patch of ground burst into summer bloom and in minutes passed into autumn fruition. Freezing and thawing breaks rock he somehow knew, pressing his paw firmly against the ground. Berries in mouth, he sunk into the now-soft earth; the soil and rock moved away at his touch.

"It seems one of the Canadian outposts is playing around. Apparently they've seen an ermine with magical skills. They even sent along a few pictures of their Ermine Elementalist."

The post commander leaned back in his chair. "You'd almost think they find it boring watching over an empty expanse of tundra. Message them back and ask them to confirm that it's an Ermine, and not just a Weasel Warlock."

The communicator held back a laugh, "Shall I also request that they stay alert for Sorcerous Stoats?"

With a short smile and a nod, the communicator was dismissed. As he turned to go, the commander called out, "One more thing to tack on to that message: ask if they have any news of Apprentice Samuel, he's two days overdue."