The sun lingers here. It rises and falls imperceptibly as it crawls just above distant frozen peaks in an eternal circle. It lends an orange cast to the snow, an illusion of warmth where there is none to be found without furs and fire. Today has been good: though it has snowed much of the day, the horizon has remained clear – our camp is safe. For now.
My concern must have shown on my face. “The clouds are drifting outward, but slowly,” intones the face across the fire. “You can likely sleep until East.”
The crooked shadow of our tree points south, branches mingling with our shoulders and hunched backs dancing with the flames that cook our next meal.
I grunt in assent and shift off my left leg, which is falling asleep. I glance to my left at the blazing sun. Once I’ve eaten, I will sleep.
My companion’s head turns almost imperceptibly; I stiffen as she leaps to her feet and draws her weapon. “Name yourselves,” she barks. All is silent for a moment. Then, I hear footsteps – two people – from the east, just beyond the drop. My companion strikes hilt to armor, and the steps stop again at the crash.
A thin voice calls, “We are wood mages. Twins. We mean no harm or offense.” When no response comes, the steps resume. My companion’s gaze does not waver from where the rough-hewn stone steps at the edge of our camp descend. Snow gathers on her forward arm.
They look as wood mages often do: pine bundles dangling from their belts alongside leather spell pouches and some game, plates of hardened bark for “armor,” dark hair kept neat in knots under their brown fur hoods. They are not terribly young, but they stand straight, unbowed by the packs they carry. They step as one, watching the weapon pointed at them all the while. A branch’s shadow in the orange snow stops them. They remove their hoods. Each has only one eye – one left, one right – the skin smooth over the other socket.
By this time, I have risen to my feet and stepped slightly to the side to see around the armored woman between me and the newcomers. Her stance unchanging, my companion repeats, “Name yourselves.”
The twin with only a left eye fixes it on her. “We do not have names. But we have knowledge of your encounters with the creatures of these slopes.” This is the one who spoke from the stairs.
“Not the question,” I say. “Name yourselves.”
The other twin puts a hand on their sibling’s arm. Left-eye says, “Call us what you wish. Perhaps Left-eye and Right-eye?” They look pointedly at me.
“Minds, too? Shall we strike you down for liars?” I take a step forward.
“Please,” Right-eye says, their voice softer yet stronger than that of their petulant sibling, “that is the extent of my sibling’s mind magic. Isolated words only. I swear it on my life.”
“Bad manners to use mind magic on a new acquaintance. Especially dangerous when standing, as you are, on the killing end of a weapon.” I glance at my companion, squinting slightly in the sunlight that glints off her metal shell.
“Forgive them. We came to lend our aid in cleansing this mountain.”
“We do not need aid from liars,” growls the woman in armor.
“Calm,” I say to her. “We do need aid. Rather urgently.” I turn to the twins. “What aid do you offer?”
“We offer our magic,” says Left-eye, stiffly. “But we ourselves may not enter the shadow. Should we enter it, a curse will destroy us.”
One does not ask about curses in this land, lest they carry out their work that much sooner. “Then how,” I ask cautiously, “do you propose to help?”
The twins point to their eyes.
“With me.” It is not a question, for I already know the answer, and they know that I know. I have heard of such arrangements, but have never undertaken one myself. A temporary exchange of eyes, a link between the users that conveys magical perception and spells alike. “Is it safe?” For any of us?
Right-eye bows her head. “We have done this once before, and it was successful.”
“And in return?”
They both glance at a pile of furs visible through the open flap of my tent nearby. A fair trade. I nod to my companion, who lowers her weapon. “Very well. Now?”
Right-eye nods. “The clouds will not cover the sun for some hours yet. It is safest.”
I step forward to signal my agreement. The twins join hands, then each takes one of mine. They bow their heads, and I mine, as they incant in low voices. A tingling warmth spreads from their hands up my arms and toward my head. The magic is prickling at the edges of my vision, waiting at the door. I open it. The warm light playing on the snow at my feet takes on a curious hue, or perhaps a greater depth, as it seems to sparkle so severely it hurts to look.
“Do not close your eyes,” says one of the twins. I look up. Both of them are staring at me, one hand holding mine, the other holding their single eye in front of their face with its pupil turned to me.
“Remove your eyes.” Somehow, I still do not know which is speaking. My hands release theirs and rise to cover my eyes, shocking me with their cold presence. Pressure builds behind my hands, as it does when trying to hold in a sob. My temples buzz and vibrate until it feels like my skull is going to shatter itself. A sour taste swirls in my mouth. And all at once, it stops. I hang my head and my hands come away.
From a very strange angle, I can see that all is as it was moments before, with a curious shimmer cast over everything.
“Take our eyes.” My gaze is moved up and rolled about. I feel slightly dizzy but focus on the small, moist sensation in my hands that tells me when I am holding someone else’s eyes. The backs of my hands are tapped once, to confirm. Everything goes dark again as I feel my frigid hands cup my face again. A different pressure this time, like rubbing one's eyes too hard on waking up, and everything is still.
“Look at us.” Though I feel my eyelids blinking, my sight does not blacken. Instead, I see myself, with two differently colored eyes, mouth slightly open. There is no depth, as if I have only one eye open. And in fact, Left-eye’s eye is closed. Right-eye looks at me. She blinks, and as if trying to catch up my eyelids flutter.
“This feels awful,” I say lightly. “But I believe it was successful. Can you see through me?” I watch Right-eye nod from two different angles.
“Please put a hand on the tree over there,” she says. I watch myself move to the towering trunk. Magic flows, strangely, down my arm from my head instead of welling up in my hand. Where my palm rests on the wood the bark twists; a ripple passes between my fingers and resolves into whorls that pucker into buds.
“How are your senses?”
I draw a deep breath and smell cooking meat and smoke from the popping, crackling fire. The snow crunches underfoot while the bark writhes mysteriously, lazily under my fingertips. Faintly, like a dream halfway to waking, I can feel a tension in my scalp. My hand drifts toward my head.
“As the bond settles,” says Right-eye, “you will sense more easily through us. It will still be difficult to discern yours from mine or my sibling’s, but it will become more distinct.”
“Shall we eat before we depart, then?” asks my companion, now at ease. “You may sit by the fire and cook your game.”
They both bow their heads in gratitude. We all take our places around the flames, the horizon’s blinding nexus circling ever onward.