The Giving

The Yukta: a race discovered by the explorers of the Twenty-first century, yet its ancestry dating back to the Hundreds. Better known as the Race of Discoloured Eyes due to their diet of raw seal meat (but that is under speculation), they dwell within the Arctic Circle, the land of the Final Frontier where hardly anyone survived, and were believed to be part of the recognised Inuit’s gene pool.

However, the tough race of ice people was slowly dying off, their numbers ebbing away due to chill-induced illnesses that preyed upon them mercilessly.

They were the People of the Cold.

They never discovered heat.

That was to change today; I was sure, as I finally noted a gaping hole in the ground, and others like it littered sparsely around it: the homes of the Yukta.

The endless plateau of glaring white, with the occasional glacier and ice peak, had been all that surrounded me like an unending sea of frost, doubled with the freezing chill that recalled the heat of the tropical island I left behind as sheer bliss.

The sun hid behind the cloud cover, adding to the chill, but blessedly the arctic winds decided not to make their appearance today.

Ending my hour’s trudge through the wastelands, I dropped the frost-bitten harness of my human sled, carrying my worldly goods. The sound of metal falling onto the hard-packed ice was palpable, a sonorous din that ripped the silence.

Heads popped up through those holes. Human heads, covered with extremely thick fur coats of tundra animals that were coarsely sewn together. Patches of brown and white surrounded the plump cheeks, tanned brown skin and almond eyes of the people. The eyes were ogling me: the discoloured eyes that gave eerie leers.

They had reason to stare: I was a foreigner, an outsider like the few others, others who had discovered their existence in the bleakness, and did not return for eons, leaving them to their fate.

It was time to make my introduction of the life-saver to the Yukta. They have missed it for far too long.

I grabbed the sled harness once more and lugged it closer to the dwellings’ entrances.

The women started chattering – literally gnashing their jaws together and adding in clicks and simple vocal sounds into their vernacular, something that I still have not deciphered. Some of the men gave me a frown – what was that foreign woman doing?

I dropped the harness once more and dug through the haversack bounded to the sled, chilled fumbling hands retrieving some seal blubber and dried skin from a scavenge and a broad flat slate I found midst the tundra vegetation at the scientist village I left this morning, along with two rough stones.

All eyes were on me as I laid the slate on the floor, the seal blubber and dried skin on top like the icing on a cake, and kneeled myself to the side of it, allowing the heads to have a good view of the mini pyramid.

More chattering rose, a hint of suspicion in them.

Now for the magic trick. A stone in each gloved hand, I struck the two rocks together in a quick flick of the wrists, an inch from the seal matter.

Sparks flew, and the silence from the Yukta that followed told me I had their interest.

The skin started to smoke, and a red glow was present at the edge of the skin. Slowly, that red glow ate the ebony hide, until it touched the gel-like blubber below it.

A flame sprouted, and it grew swiftly, from a fingertip’s width to the size of my enormous gloves.

I hazarded a glance to the crowd by my sides.

There was new chattering, but of surprise.

What was that orange and red… thing that sprouted from the seal matter? Why was it growing? Is it real? What did she, that foreign woman with light brown skin and black hair do?

Soon, a little bonfire was raging upon the seal fats, and I fed it with more natural fuel. The natives were staring, curious or apprehensive I could not tell.

The warmth of the fire rose to my face, and I failed to hold back a smile on my guarded face. I was warned not to show much emotion, but the presence of heat was bliss.

Slipping off my stained gloves, I allowed the flames to warm my hands directly. The Yukta continued staring, but they focused upon my hands now, palms outstretched towards the flames, the glow of vermillion upon the pale skin that was slowly turning rosy.

In that squat before the flames, I paused.

I was hoping upon this chance, the risk that curiosity overtook fear and suspicion, something that I greatly demanded from the Yukta. If they fall back into their holes, all would be lost: my efforts to come to this barren spot in the vast expanse of ice to teach and save a few, but precious few lives.

“Kok!”

The cry came from my left, and I swivelled upon my feet to see.

There was a girl who had clambered out of her ice hole, much to a woman’s dismay, who reached out for her presumed daughter.

She was a toddler, barely three I believed. Her large eyes, a hue of grey and black, true to her kinsmen, stared at the red flower. Limp ebon hair peeked from her hood, and her button nose, pout-like lips and her plump face had every inkling of an endearing little girl.

The child was stumbling towards the flame, curiosity pouring from her features. Her hands were outstretched towards the bonfire, all caution thrown away.

This child did not know that an open flame could burn, I was sure.

Hurriedly, I reached for her outstretched hands before she got too close, and she gave a cry as my hands enveloped hers.

But this cry was not of pain.

The Yukta girl looked at me; her grey and black pupils at my hazel ones, and her face wreathed into a wide grin, and gave a heart-warming chuckle.

She felt the warmth of fire, through me.

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This is my second contest entry to the polytechnic's writing competition.

I do hope I win. It's one of the rare times I'm taking my writing out of here and the fanfiction world to Reality.

I wrote a first, and that I may publish one day.

Do note, this was entirely fictuous. The theme of the competition was 'That's Hot', and was aimed at creativity, writing skill, and (for self value-addition) emotion.

I can't stand stories that have no emotion. All stories have one, already, but...

I'll shrug that off. Read, criticise, enjoy, spread peanut butter over it. I reviewed four long and large epics for the Epic Critics Club, getting rid of all the pending orders so now my critic-self can take a little hiatus.

And maybe... just maybe... am I allowed to post a Transformers short story here, or at least a snippet of it? (Question directed at Blog Moderators, actually, but I think anyone can answer it.)

To do, to do... I know a song that gets on everybody's nerves...