Chapter 3 — Into the Ice Cave
Rían
The crunch of boots against compact snow echoed in the vast stillness, a rhythmic counterpoint to the distant groan of the glacier. Rían adjusted his grip on his trekking pole, each breath forming a cloud that dissolved into the frosty air. The path ahead dipped sharply, veiled in a faint mist that shimmered under the muted light. Behind him, Isla’s boots scraped against the icy surface, her cautious rhythm faltering for a moment.
“Careful,” he said, his tone calm but edged with an undercurrent of warning.
“I’m fine,” Isla replied, though there was a brief hitch in her voice. She steadied herself, adjusting the camera bag bouncing lightly against her side. The braid trailing over her shoulder was dusted with frost, framing a face tight with focus. Her fingers brushed the greenstone pendant at her neck, a gesture that caught his attention in its quiet deliberation.
“You’re not used to this terrain,” he said as she tested the ground beneath her crampons.
“Not this exactly,” she admitted, her breath puffing into the air. “I’ve navigated moss-covered ridges and riverbeds back home. This is… less forgiving.”
“The glacier demands respect,” Rían replied. “Patience, too. If you rush, it will remind you who’s in charge.”
Isla smirked faintly, though a flicker of unease passed over her features. “Doesn’t sound like the forgiving type.”
“It isn’t,” he said simply, turning back toward the trail.
The wind sharpened as they approached the arching entrance to the ice cave. Its jagged rim caught the dim light, refracting it in fractured rainbows across the ground. The hiss of a glacial stream carried through the air, faint and constant, like the glacier’s pulse. Rían felt a familiar thrill stir within him. No matter how many times he’d walked this path, the sight always struck him as otherworldly, as though he were stepping into the glacier’s memory.
“This is it,” he said, gesturing to the gaping archway. “The ice is unpredictable here. Stay close.”
“Understood,” Isla said, already lifting her camera. Her hazel eyes glinted with determination as she framed the entrance in her lens.
Rían ducked beneath the arch, his breath catching as the cavern opened before them. Walls of ice shimmered in layers of turquoise and deep azure, their patterns flowing like frozen waves. Rippling beams of light filtered through the ice above, casting a shifting glow across the glassy floor. The air was alive with faint sounds: the drip of melting water, the distant creak of shifting ice. It was as though the glacier were breathing.
Behind him, Isla let out a soft gasp.
“Wow,” she whispered, the reverence in her voice matching the sacred stillness of the cave. “It’s like… stepping into a living cathedral.”
Rían nodded, his gaze tracing the swirling patterns that marked centuries of compression and change. “It is alive,” he said. “The glacier moves constantly, reshaping itself. What we see today won’t exist tomorrow.”
Her camera lowered slightly, her expression pensive. “Doesn’t that bother you? Spending your life studying something that—” She hesitated, searching for the words. “Something that’s vanishing?”
Rían’s fingers brushed the edge of the Glacier Journal tucked into his coat pocket. He didn’t answer immediately, the weight of her question settling into him. When he spoke, his voice was quieter. “It’s not about stopping it from disappearing. It’s about preserving the memory. The glacier carries its history in layers—every snowfall, every storm. Even as it melts, it leaves something behind, like echoes. That’s what matters.”
Isla tilted her head, studying him with an intensity that made him shift slightly. “Echoes,” she repeated softly. “Almost poetic, don’t you think? For a scientist.”
A rare chuckle escaped him, low and unguarded. “I’ll leave the poetry to you.”
She grinned, but her focus soon shifted back to the cave. Moving carefully, she scanned the surroundings for her next shot. Rían watched her, noting the way she framed her angles with instinctive precision. Her movements were deliberate yet driven, as though she were racing to capture fleeting moments before they slipped away. He found himself oddly fascinated by her intensity—a restlessness tempered by reverence.
The sharp crack of ice breaking jolted him from his thoughts. Ahead, Isla froze mid-step as a fissure spidered across the floor beneath her. The sound echoed sharply in the stillness, and Rían’s pulse surged. In two strides, he was at her side, his hand gripping her forearm with steady force.
“Don’t move,” he said sharply, his voice cutting through the air.
Isla’s breath hitched, but she nodded, remaining perfectly still as the fissure ceased its spread. The tension lingered as he guided her back a step, their movements deliberate. The ice held beneath them, but the moment stretched taut, the glacier’s quiet menace unmistakable.
“Lesson one,” he said, his grip loosening slightly. “Never trust the ice.”
Her lips twitched faintly, though her voice was shaky. “Noted. Lesson two?”
“Listen,” he replied, his tone softening as he released her. “The glacier warns you if you’re willing to hear it.”
Their eyes met briefly, and something unspoken passed between them—a flicker of trust forged through shared tension. For a moment, Rían saw not just nerves in her gaze but a quiet determination that mirrored his own.
“Do you know the story of Íssaga?” he asked, breaking the silence.
She tilted her head, curiosity sparking. “No. What’s that?”
“It’s an old Icelandic tale,” he said, shifting his weight slightly. “The glaciers were said to be guardians—keepers of wisdom and memory. But they tested those who sought their truths. The patient, the respectful, were rewarded. The arrogant, the reckless…” He paused, letting the weight of the words linger. “They were swallowed by the ice.”
Isla raised an eyebrow, though her expression turned thoughtful. “Guardians of wisdom,” she murmured. “Sounds a bit like the kaitiaki back home—the spirit guardians of the land. They protect and test us, too.”
Rían’s gaze lingered on her for a beat longer than intended. “Then you understand.”
She nodded, her tone quieter. “More than you know.”
They returned to their work, the cavern filled with the faint clicks of her camera and the soft scratch of his pen against paper. Isla’s pendant caught the refracted light as she moved, the intricate patterns of her camera strap vivid against the glacial hues. Rían paused occasionally to sketch the swirling ice formations, his notes meticulous, while Isla framed her shots with a care that bordered on reverence.
When they finally stepped back into the open air, the sun was sinking low, casting a golden glow across the glacier. The wind had eased, leaving an eerie stillness in its wake. Isla stood beside him, the strap of her camera slung over her shoulder, her cheeks tinged pink from the cold.
“Thanks for not letting me fall,” she said lightly, though there was genuine warmth in her voice.
“You didn’t need my help,” Rían replied, though his lips twitched in the faintest suggestion of a smile.
“Still,” she said, her gaze drifting to the horizon. “I appreciate it.”
Rían studied her profile in the fading light, the quiet determination etched into her features. There was something about her that unsettled him—a pull he couldn’t quite define.
“Careful,” he said softly, his voice almost teasing.
She turned to him, frowning slightly. “What?”
“You’re starting to listen,” he said, his tone lighter now. “The glacier’s song.”
Isla laughed, the sound warm and alive against the cold. “Maybe I am,” she admitted, her hazel eyes meeting his. “But don’t think that means I’m slowing down.”
Rían allowed himself a rare smile. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”
As they turned back toward the outpost, the glacier loomed behind them, vast and unyielding. Yet, for the first time, it felt less distant.
