Василиса Чмелева – Parasomnia (страница 4)

Steam billowed from the darkened ice archway. Warm steam. I edged forward, arm outstretched to test the heat, before reluctantly following the Coldborn inside.

They hadn’t lied. The place was hot in every sense of the word.

At the center of this frozen chamber, a geothermal vent churned, its thick vapors forcing the walls and floor into a perpetual half-melt.

In the reddish glow of heat-resistant crystalline plants, silhouettes of Coldborn swirled alongside aliens from neighboring planets. The air buzzed with a cacophony of voices and the clink of icy goblets filled with some yellowish concoction.

"Unbelievable," I thought. "These snow bastards dragged me to an interstellar brothel."

At the heart of the chamber, atop a sunken dais, the dance floor pulsed with Coldborn figures draped in cerulean silks. Their bodies moved with glacial precision – less like patrons and more like elements of some carefully choreographed ritual. The dancers would occasionally freeze mid-motion, forming intricate living sculptures that seemed hewn from the planet's frozen soul – a perfect synthesis of ice and fire made flesh.

Then one dancer locked eyes with me. Her fingers curled in unmistakable invitation – and my suit's thermoregulator immediately spiked into the red. I grabbed the nearest frosted glass from a passing tray and beat a hasty retreat to the bar. As for my escorts? Already consumed by the undulating crowd.

"Wouldn’t recommend that one, Kallinkorian," said the creature behind the bar, its frost-glazed skin shimmering as it deftly mixed drinks for the increasingly rowdy crowd.

The bartender stood shorter than its kin, and I caught a few mocking glances from passing Coldborn—though clearly, this one had long since leaned into its role as the court jester. Case in point: it suddenly hopped onto the counter and thrust a new glass of violet liquid at me.

"What’s the difference?" I asked, accepting the drink and giving it a wary sniff.

"When a Coldborn dies, they become a snowdrift," the bartender said.

"And?" I didn’t follow.

"Blokays has enough dunes as is—last thing we need is tunnels clogged with them. So we found… uses for meltwater."

He grabbed my yellowish cocktail and downed it in one gulp, coughing like he’d swallowed Kallinkorian jet fuel. A wave of faint vapor rolled up his throat, and I watched the non-freezing liquid slither down his esophagus, pooling in his translucent belly.

"You drink them?" I asked, revolted.

"Oh relax," the bartender waved me off. "Cryozor was bitter in life, but now that he's gone? Like fine wine—only gets better with 'resting.' Now he's got a flavor so rich even sugar bows in respect.Want a taste? I'll remake it. But fair warning—this cocktail might gift you an adventure you'll never forget… or one you will, and you'll thank me for it."

"Christ alive," I muttered, eyeing the violet drink. "Okay, what is this one?"

"Juice of Frostberry cave fruits. They only grow where temperatures stay below -30 degrees. Their flesh is packed with compounds that ferment into a unique alcoholic agent—Frostbrew. But in excess, Frostbrew can ‘freeze’ your emotions, inducing a state of icy euphoria where mind and body detach from reality, plunging you into visions."

The bartender eyed me. "So keep yourself in check, Kallinkorian." Then, casually: "What’s your name?"

"Ethan," I said, swirling the viscous liquid in my glass.

"I’m Gelsion." The creature polished an empty tumbler with a rag before setting it down. "Nephew of Uncle Cryozor."

I wordlessly pushed back from the bar and stalked toward the tables. That little frost gremlin had officially turned my stomach.

"Skyla, what fresh hell have you dragged me into…" I mentally cycled through every profanity in the known galaxy.

No sooner had I claimed an ice-carved booth than Glacius and Glughet flanked me.

"Why the long face, Kallinkorian?" Glughet boomed. "Don’t tell me Gelsion offered you his ‘signature brew’?"

"You’re clearly experts at revelry," I snipped. "So why wrap your dancers in fabrics when you strut around naked outside this ‘Ice Cradle’?"

"Oh, come on!" Glacius exclaimed. "A lady's got to have some mystery, eh? Without it, you're nowhere, understand?"

"Listen, boys," I decided to cast the bait, watching as the Coldborn swayed in unison over their glasses. "Rumor has it some of you can read any text in existence."

"Any half-decently educated Coldborn can read," Glughet muttered, offended, and Glacius nodded.

"What if the text is… alive?" I asked skeptically.

"Then you freeze it first—then read it," Glacius drawled.

I held their gaze for a long moment before sighing:

"I don't really get the local humor."

"Hot as 'don't get it'," Glacius snorted.

"I was told that among you there are…" I paused, recalling the name Skyla had written in her notes, "Astral Sisters. Could you introduce me to them?"

"Astral Sisters?" Glacius and Glughet exclaimed simultaneously, jumping in their seats. "Don't even dream about it, Kallinkorian!"

"Why not? Can't I just politely ask them to read one letter?"

"Astral Sisters aren't conversation partners for the likes of you, Kallinkorian," Glacius waved me off. "Those who are forced to meet them – let alone speak with them – are in deep trouble already."

"Hot as 'deep trouble'," Glughet flailed his arms. "Under normal circumstances, meeting them is impossible. Forget it."

"What kind of trouble are you talking about, boys?" I frowned.

"The Astral Sisters are our galactic arbiters," Glughet lowered his voice – though by my hearing standards, it was still plenty loud. "They're summoned for a Blokays trial when someone commits an unforgivable crime on our planet and we need to decide their punishment."

"Yeah, when our leader has doubts – which is rare," Glacius added.

"And what kind of crimes made him doubt?" I feigned shock.

"Something… unspeakable," Glughet cut in ominously.

"You're not one of those, are you, Kallinkorian?" Glacius asked, finishing his cocktail and exhaling a small silver puff of smoke.

"Come on, boys," I laughed. "Just got curious, that's all. Seems I was misinformed."

"Hot as 'misinformed'," the Coldborn chorused.

I waited until my guides were thoroughly intoxicated and began losing coordination of their hulking bodies, then quietly slipped past the guests and exited the ‘Ice Cradle’

To my surprise, the cavern square stood completely empty. Apparently, everyone had either retreated to their cooling chambers or joined the festivities elsewhere.

Which meant I could finally put my plan into action.

…On Kallinkor, birthdays were always celebrated lavishly. Parents would gather relatives, setting festive tables with lace tablecloths Mother had sewn for the occasion. The finest ceremonial dishes were brought up from the cellars. All day long, the house welcomed anyone wishing to offer congratulations—as if each passing year still carried the weight of a miracle. Though, considering the planet’s slow decay, any birthday could well have been the last. But such thoughts were never spoken aloud.

Kell had turned twenty. By Kallinkor’s standards, he was now considered a grown man—old enough to build his own house or start a family. Pa delivered his usual solemn speech of advice, while relatives raised their glasses in endless toasts, showering him with well-wishes.

But only I knew how much Kell despised this day.

We stole away from the crowd of tipsy aunts and hid in the treehouse we’d built when I was ten. Soon, it would be my turn—my twelfth birthday, following Kell’s. And unlike him, I was counting the days.

"Once I move into my own house, I'm ushering in an era of no celebrations," my brother said, stretching out on the floor. "No more repeating the same hollow wishes year after year, as if people run out of ideas after three phrases."

"But you'll still invite me, right?" I muttered, settling down beside him.

"Obviously, Itty. Where would I be without you?" Kell gave me his trademark shoulder punch and closed his eyes.

At twenty-two, my brother moved out—just as he’d always wanted. Pa helped him build a small hut on the next street over. I saw him less and less after that, though his place was still within walking distance.

So that’s exactly what I decided to do when Kell’s next birthday rolled around. I retrieved that "ball" from the storage room—the one that had given me the strength and stamina I’d craved—and set off down the path toward his hut.

Light glowed in the windows, and with a grin, I bounded up the porch steps, already anticipating Kell’s grumbling about how gifts were unnecessary. But I wanted to make him happy.

The door didn’t open right away. When it finally did, a pretty Kallinkorian girl stood there, her long, lush hair cascading around her. That kind of mane was becoming rare among our people—which told me she came from wealth.

"Who are you looking for?" the girl asked politely.

"I, uh… Is Kell home?" My words tangled in my throat.

"What’s taking so long? Who is it?" My brother’s irritated voice carried from inside before he appeared on the porch. "Oh. Itty. Hey."

"Hey, Kell," I replied. "Thought you’d be alone."