One Thousand Statues

The sculptor stirred the pot as the stew began to warm up, pausing every few moments to taste a spoonful and realize that it was still cold. He'd continue to check constantly, even though there was no way that the stew had gotten sufficiently warm in the past thirty seconds.

"Wine, huh? You like wine? Well, I haven't got any of that here, I'm sorry to say. Leads to shaky hands, and I can't have shaky hands in my line of business. What's that thing on your tail, anyways? Is it good for anything, or is it just something you've got on there? How many of those little metal piercings do you have, anyway?"

As the soup began to steam, he ladled it into two small ceramic bowls. Retrieving a pair of wooden spoons from a drawer, he handed one to Zrixiana.

"There you go, Zri...Zrixiana. Gosh, you've got a long name. Do you have a nickname, something shorter that I can call you?"

The sculptor slurped at his soup, glancing nervously out the window every few moments. The storm had increased to a full-blown blizzard, and the wind howled loudly outside.

"So he took it off and put that on? That sounds awful. How did he take you, anyway? Did he just show up at your home and snatch you? Was he walking by and decided that you'd make a good...er...pet? Were you a pet? Or more of a companion? I used to have a pet lizard, a long time ago. Or was it a snake? I can't remember, it was so many years ago. I think it was a snake. That's kind of ironic, huh? I had a pet snake, you were someone's pet snake...How about Zri? Can I call you Zri? That's a lot easier. Do I talk too much? Sometimes when I wander into town, people tell me to stop talking. It's not often that I get to talk to people, though. Most of them don't survive the trip up the mountain. I don't think I've ever seen anyone dressed like you all the way up here. How's the frostbite, by the way? That metal looks awfully uncomfortable."

The sculptor put down his bowl and walked over to have a look. Checking her arm carefully, he frowned.

"Hmm...take those metal things off your arms. You'll have to get some warm water on those, or it'll get worse. Frostbite is no joke, you know. That's why I wear my coat and gloves and scarf whenever I go out! If I get frostbite and lose my fingers, how am I supposed to sculpt? That's why you're not supposed to go outside wearing...whatever it is that you're wearing. Seriously, what is that? It doesn't even look comfortable."

He put a kettle over the fire, warming up some water. As eccentric as the man seemed, he certainly appeared to know what do do.

"Huh...Well, I suppose it does look good, but frozen corpses aren't pretty. Believe me, I've seen a few. I don't suppose you've got anything else to wear? I'd offer you my coat, but...it's my coat. I really like that coat. It's lined with otter fur, it's awfully soft. A lot of the things you did were his choice, huh? What sort of guy keeps a person as a pet and sticks her full of pointy metal things, anyways? Did you ever try to get away before today? What happened if you didn't do as he said? He didn't keep you in a cage, did he? That'd be awful."

As the kettle heated up, the sculptor dipped a cloth in the warm water and wrapped it around her frostbitten wrist. Hopefully, this would sooth the injury somewhat. The sculptor had treated his fair share of frostbite in his time, and moved quickly to get more warm washcloths. A moment later, though, he turned back.

"Is that really silk? I've never seen silk before. I've heard it's soft. Can touch it?"

He reached out to touch the silk, seemingly oblivious to the fact that he would be essentially groping her in doing so.

The sculptor rubbed the cloth between his fingers, marveling at how soft and finely woven it was. It was a far cry from the rough wool he was used to, although not nearly as warm. Still, he preferred his heavy coat.

"Ooh...that's real soft. Almost as nice as otter fur. He stuck you in a cage and poked you with a stick? That's terrible. What sort of person does that? He chained you up, too? Ooh, that's awful. What sort of person was he, do you know? A lord? An alchemist? Did he have any other pets, more snake girls? Or were you the only one?"

Letting go of the cloth, he started helping her pry the metal things off her arms. His hands were rough from working with stone, but he was surprisingly gentle.

The sculptor frowned, confused. He didn't know a whole lot about demons, aside from the grotesque gargoyles he carved.

"An incubus? I don't think I know what that is...we don't really get many demons up here. Mostly just snow wraiths and things like that. They'll freeze the blood in your veins, the tongue in your mouth, your eyes in your head...scary things. That's why you have to stay warm around here, and stay inside whenever there's a storm. Lots of people think they can make it just down the road to granny's house, and end up ice cubes just outside their doorstep."

Once the metal was worked off and the injuries were wrapped in warm cloths, he sat back in a rather worn and overstuffed armchair.

"So you're the only one who got out, then? Are you going to try to go back, to help his others? He doesn't sound like a very nice person, keeping these girls as pets to poke and prod and keep in cages."

The sculptor nodded sympathetically, twirling a chisel idly between his fingers.

"Well, I can't blame you for not wanting to go back. It's a shame you weren't able to get away last time, huh? I'd imagine he put you in a cage and stuck you full of metal bits, huh...awful business."

As he spoke, the temperature in the cabin dropped noticeably. The wind howled ever louder outside, threatening to blow the door off its hinges. All of a sudden, the fire went out with a sharp hiss. The sculptor jumped to his feet, running to try and relight the fire as the cabin grew colder and colder.

"Oh no...this isn't good. There's wraiths out there, and they've spotted us. I hope the door holds..."

The heavy wooden door would be frigid to the touch, the metal doorknob already covered in frost. As Zrixiana leaned against the door, she'd feel a heavy thump as something threw itself against the outside. The frame flexed, but held. Meanwhile, the sculptor managed to start a weak, sputtering fire. He sighed, stepping away from the hearth as the flame died.

"It's no use, the logs are frozen. I hope that door holds, or it's going to get real chilly in here real quick. Those snow wraiths are no joke. Do you know how to fight a wraith, by any chance? I don't. Looks like we're going to freeze in here...oh well."

He put on his coat and leaned against the door beside Zrixiana, sighing.

"They've never broken through yet, but you never know with wraiths. I've got no idea how many are out there."

"I'd say six," said a voice in the corner. If Zrixiana looked over, she'd see a man in a creepy mask and an odd, two-pointed hood sitting in the shadows. Surely he hadn't been there just a moment before? How could he have gotten in? The man looked blankly at the two, his voice flat and emotionless.

"It's kinda cold in here. You should start a fire or something."

The masked man in the corner yawned. He got up and scooped himself a bowl of stew, ignoring the sculptor's protests. He lifted the bowl to his mouth, which seemed like a silly thing to do, considering his mask had no opening for a mouth. Still, when he brought it back down again, the bowl was somehow half empty. How had he done such a thing? He spoke again, his voice flat and calm.

"Well well...a lonely sculptor and a naughty runaway. The stew is delicious, by the way, but you could go a little lighter on the turnips. Hmmm...little snake, won't your master be worried about you, now that you've run off? It's so cold here, no place for someone like you. Don't worry, I won't tell. I'm good at keeping secrets."

He held a finger to the painted white lips of his mask, then turned to the sculptor.

"And you...all the way up here because you like stone more than people. Have you ever had this many visitors at once? I didn't think so. It's a party! Me, you, her, the wraiths outside..."

The wraiths in question continued to bang on the door. Meanwhile, something that felt almost like a frigid liquid seeped under the door, swirling up as it got inside. The masked man glanced over, still speaking in the same bored tone.

"Oh, look at that. A snow wraith. I wonder what they taste like."