As the fleet sailed ever farther north, the air grew steadily colder, as if “cold” had become some attribute of the sea ahead.
No matter how fierce the flames or how many warm garments were worn, they could only delay the intrusion of the cold for a while; they could not truly bring warmth.
In that endless, icy night, the Deep Sea Church’s ships delivered the last batch of documents to the Torchbearers’ cathedral ark — they came out of the darkness, berthed beside the ark for a few hours, then slipped back into the night.
Frem stood on the high tower of the cathedral ark, watching the silhouettes on the sea blur and fade in the distance.
The distant horns still echoed through the night sky for a time before dissolving into the wind.
“This may be the last time we see anyone from the civilized world,” the tall Sengin pope said as he turned to the priestess standing beside him. “After this, the temple will stop in the north — the ark is the archive, and the archive is the ark.”
“We are prepared for that,” the priestess said calmly. “We will make our stand in that eternal ice, watch over the last flicker of flame behind the night, until the end of this long dark… It has been an honor to follow you this far, Your Holiness.”