The Ice Lands
Page 11
“Forgive me, sir. I’ll pursue and recapture Subject 117 immediately. He hasn’t been outside for long and can’t have gone far,” Lilith pleaded. Her chances of recapturing 117 were slim, her mana was low and the arctic temperatures outside would quickly drain what little remained, but it was better than being made into a pancake.
“No need. I don’t blame you for 117’s escape. 117 won’t survive long out there and even if we manage to recapture him in time, the damage he’s sustained will throw off the results of our experiment. Leave him be,” Malphestos sighed. Murlimps could survive naturally on the surface but not everywhere on the surface. Niflheim happened to be located at the coldest place on the planet, 117 wouldn’t last long.
“Clean this mess up. Subject 087 will have to wait until tomorrow.” Malphestos looked around the room one more time, his eyes hovering over Bast’s mushed remains a second longer than the rest. “Then notify Distlemander that I need another assistant. I doubt that metal head will provide me with anyone good, he takes anyone with brains and experience for himself, but you never know.”
Malphestos strode out of the room. He stopped for a moment in the doorway, almost sending Lilith into another panic, but Malphestos was simply cleaning off the bottom of his shoes before continuing down the hall.
Lilith took several deep breaths of relief. Never had she felt that she’d come so close to death. Lilith had heard stories from Bast and others in Niflheim about how many assistants Malphestos went through, but this was the first time Lilith witnessed it herself. Lilith stood up and despite her exhaustion immediately set about patching the hole in the wall and cleaning Bast off the floor. She had a lot of work to do if she wanted to be ready for Subject 087 the next day and she definitely wanted it all to be ready.
Ch. 7: Truth
The next week went smoothly. Izusa remained unconscious, so I tightly tied up in a tree. That way she couldn’t accidently roll over and die while I went around with Robin looking for stuff to eat. I still had a significant amount of food from Albert stored away which I shared with Robin as thanks for my rescue, but Robin still spent his days going after more. Winter was on the horizon and he had to have enough stored to survive it. Robin constantly feared starvation, feared becoming like the other Earthlings who landed in this region. The forest was sparse and each day we had to travel further to find anything. Typically, Robin slept somewhere different every day to spread his search but since Izusa couldn’t be moved, or at least not easily, we were forced to stay in the same area.
After a brief worsening of Izusa’s condition, probably related to her having been moved and manhandled, Izusa gradually got better. Until, after one long day picking clean a cluster of crackberry trees, named for its unusual ability to attract lightning strikes not its pharmacological content, I returned to find Izusa awake.
“What do you think you’re doing? Cut me down this instant,” she demanded as she stared down at me from a branch twenty feet above.
‘Does she really think she’s in any position to make demands,’ said Mai. One benefit of the run in with the skeletal New Fallen, my relationship with Mai had greatly improved. I’d offered to let her take over and she’d refused. I trusted her again.
“You should be thanking me,” I told Izusa. “I could have bailed on you after you fell ill and you would have been New Fallen food.”
“What?” Izusa exclaimed.
“New Fallen, hungry skinny naked people running around, at least that was what you called them in some of your fever induced ramblings,” I said.
“What… Watch out. There’s one right behind you,” said Izusa.
“Don’t worry, I’m not like them,” said Robin.
“You can tell by the fact that he hasn’t tried to take a bite out of us,” I said. “He told me his story though. Told me all about what your people did to my people. Told me how those monsters became that way.” I kept my voice cold, hard, and steady. It was all I could do to keep myself from shouting and bashing the beastwoman’s face in.
“I’m the one in control now,” I nodded towards Izusa’s restraints. “If you don’t want me leaving you here as I sneak back into Xebrya, you’ll need to explain a few things.”
“Why?” Robin cut in before I could begin. “Why did you abandon us?” I knew the question was important to Robin and I was somewhat curious myself so I let Izusa answer this first.
“I suppose what happened to your people can be called an accident,” Izusa began.
“An accident… An accident is when you bump into someone. It’s nonintentional. It’s not kicking desperate people out into the cold to freeze and starve dozens of times over the better part of a year,” said Robin. Robin’s voice was quiet and held the slight tremble of anger spilling over.
“I’m… sorry. I know how it sounds… Just let me explain our side of things before you snap your jaws at me,” Izusa winced. It was finally dawning on her how much of a predicament she was in.
“What happened to your people was a combination of mistaken identification and circumstance. First, the mistaken identification, your people were confused as a group of our outcasts called the Fallen,” Izusa began.
“The Othal Confederation is a harsh land and the only way we survive is by working together. If clansmen are strong and capable, the clan thrives. If the clan lets in too much weakness, it withers and dies. The clans need a way to prevent weakness from infesting the clan and that way is the Blood Moon ceremony. It is a traditional right performed on each blood moon, a night where the full moon takes on a reddish tint.”
‘She means on the night of a partial lunar eclipse,’ Mai explained. ‘On a partial lunar eclipse only the edge of the planet’s shadow is cast on the moon. Since light on the edge still passes through Earth’s atmosphere, it acquires a red tint. The period between these ‘Blood Moons’ would vary wildly between six months and three years.’
“The Blood Moon is a coming of age ceremony in which all Othans of the right age must participate in. Othan children are virtually the same as Xebryan children, perhaps we are a bit bigger… But what I mean to say is that we originally only have a human form. The Blood Moon ceremony opens up our souls allowing it to intermix with another. Then the young Othans are sent out into the wilderness the same way they entered this world, with nothing. They have three days to find a beast, kill it, and consume its heart. If successful, they will forever be able to turn into that beast at will. If they fail, they will forever remain in their human form and never know what it is like to become one with nature. Furthermore, those who fail will be banished from the clan and will be unable to find a place in another. From that time on no Othan will share with them shelter or sustenance, in fact we will refuse to even communicate with them. Even their closest friends and family will pretend as if they had died, because basically that is what has happened to them. We call these poor souls the Fallen.”
“Mostly those who fail to acquire a beastform simply never return. A good number die during the challenge, killed by some fierce beast they pursued. But, some survive and, knowing they would be rejected, do not bother to return. They live for a time out in the wilds by themselves, but no one can survive out there on their own forever. Sometimes a Fallen returns to the clan several months or even years after their failed Blood Moon desperately looking for help. Of course, they don’t receive that help.”
“That is what we thought your people were when they suddenly appeared in the middle of our clans. They showed up naked and without a beastform despite being well past the age in which they should have had their Blood Moon ceremony, so we all thought they were Fallen. Sure, they were more numerous than Fallen usually are and some were older than Fallen usually live to be, but we just assumed that there had been a larger conglomerate of them living and working together and in the current state of hunting, they were having difficulty acquiring enough resources to survive.”
“I think you know what happened from there, the new arrivals from your world were s
hunned and tossed out from the clan, repeatedly. By the time anyone realized they were not Fallen, that the same people were being magically resurrected and teleported in, over and over, it was too late to do anything. Your people were all insane and could not be reasoned with, so we decided to keep kicking out those that turned up. I would like to think that if someone realized sooner, things would be different, but honestly, I do not know. This land is hard and in recent years, it has been even harder than usual. When Nest collapsed three years ago, many of the refugees died of starvation. Resources are too tight right now to be shared with strangers.”
I took in everything and nodded. While I found the way they expelled their own to be cruel, was it right to judge such behavior. Even separating the fact that they were a different people with a different set of ways and morals, it wasn’t as if such behavior was alien to my world. All across Earth, or even within my own country, there were abandoned people left to fend for themselves or starve. And in many of those cases, it wasn’t as if it was because resources were scarce. The anger in my heart towards Izusa lifted a bit. I looked to Robin, he was the one who had experienced it after all and held a greater say over the issue.
“I forgive you,” said Robin.
“Really? That easily?” I asked.
“Anger never does any good for anyone. Best to let it go at the earliest opportunity,” said Robin. “Don’t think you’re off the hook though. Your people still have many others to atone for and I can’t absolve you on their behalf.”
‘Anger leads to hate. Hate leads to suffering,’ Mai agreed.
“You may continue, Isaac,” Robin finished. I’d ruminated over this question many days since Izusa first passed out. I could finally get to it.
“You said something when you were feverish,” I explained. “Why did you kidnap me? And how can I bring peace?”
“My people invaded human lands because, over the past few years, our lands have become less and less habitable. Each year the winter storms grow more fierce and the snows take longer to melt. Each spring and summer there is less game to provide for our families. As I said, one of the clans has already collapsed and many more hang on by a thread. Many Othans feel the only chance our people have to survive is by moving south,” said Izusa.
“And how exactly do you mean for me to stop all this? I can’t change the weather,” I said.
“Perhaps you can,” said Izusa. “I am of Doraga, one of the northernmost clans. Beyond our northern edge is a region of permanent snow we call the Ice Lands. This region is usually left alone but periodically during warmer periods, a few adventurous Othans have gone exploring. Oftentimes, the main pursuit of such explorations is a site 1000 miles deep into the territory called the Permerine Shrine. The Shrine is a giant black metal structure in the shape of a cube sitting on the ice and its only other substantive feature is a five foot † symbol engraved on what looks like a sealed doorway. According to legend, the structure was created by an ancient advanced race of peoples who saved the Othal Confederation in its greatest time of need. Many believe a vast wealth of treasure remains inside the structure though no one has been able to get inside.”
“You think something inside can save your people?” I asked.
“No, I think something inside is destroying my people,” said Izusa. “Twelve years ago, a few years before the weather started getting bad, a group of Othans made a trek to the Permerine Shrine. The three who returned claimed to see individuals going in and out of the structure. Unfortunately, the area immediately around the site was too cold for them to investigate further and they were forced back.”
‘She thinks because of your connection to the symbol, you have a way inside,’ said Mai, which I had already figured.
I sighed deeply. “I don’t think I can help you.”
‘Uh… excuse me. That’s not entirely accurate,’ said Mai. ‘You still have the black key card in your inventory. It should work on the Niflheim site as well.’
The black key card to which Mai referred was the item I used to locate and enter the Traveler site hidden under Crystalpeak. There, I had come across a map that displayed other Traveler sites distributed around the world, which included a site called Niflheim located where Alaska would be on Earth.
“But you used the same symbol, don’t tell me you don’t know anything,” said Izusa.
I remained quiet for a long moment weighing my options. I could deny any special knowledge and return to Xebrya, but the fighting would continue. The beastmen would launch another invasion so long as it was the only way they could survive. Maybe Xebrya would push back this one too, but regardless, countless numbers of people would die and I couldn’t let that happen.
“I’ve been inside a few ruins similar to the one you describe,” I admitted. “And I know how to get inside.”
I made my decision. Izusa would live and I was going to her clan, I was going to Doraga.
Ch. 8: Doraga
“Are you ready?” Sylph asked.
“Yes, the bait is all set up, just be sure it’s tied on tight enough. We might not get another chance at this,” said Bolevard.
“It’s tight enough,” Sylph assured him. “I’m letting it go now.”
Bolevard heard a series of squeaks through the floor vents connecting his and Sylph’s cells as Sylph lowered the captured rat into it and let it go. The rat was just their latest scheme at finding a way for her to pass him the human magic sigil design they needed.
They needed to physically pass it on torn piece of fabric because magic was cast by holding the sigil in the caster’s mind and the complex sigil needed to be imagined too precisely for Sylph to simply describe.
Sylph attracted a rat into her cell with scraps of food. She captured it and tied a drawing of the sigil to its back. She then released the rat in the vent, hoping it would be drawn to Bolevard’s side by the bait he left out. The odds were iffy but it wasn’t as if they were spoilt for choice.
As Bolevard sat quietly, staring at the hole, his mind couldn’t help but wander towards how so much had changed the past few weeks.
Despite being in some shithole cell, despite being tortured every few days, despite the bad food and little sleep, those first few weeks with Sylph were some of the best of Bolevard’s sad sack life. Bolevard’s parents both ran off before he could remember, he once caught his now ex-wife sleeping with a milkman, can’t get more cliché than that, and he had worked a series of dead end service jobs catering to spoiled rich brats before ultimately being tricked into signing up for the army. There he would have died along with countless others on the battlefield if he hadn’t been yanked to this world.
The place he found himself might be bad, but he was no longer alone. With Sylph there, Bolevard had someone with shared circumstances, goals, trials, and triumphs, small as catching mice may be. Best of all, whenever one of them was down, the other was there to provide comfort.
After around 30 minutes, a mouse poked its head out of the drain and scurried across the ground under the bed, where Bolevard had laid some two-day-old corn bread. Bolevard immediately jumped up and covered the vent with an empty boot. The mouse squeaked as it detected the activity near its planned exit route. It made a quick circle around the edges of the room, but there was no other way out.
The walls of their cells were solid concrete and the door was solid steel that fit the floor, walls, and ceiling with such snugness that not even air could pass through. The only flaw in the cell’s impervious façade was a pair of vents for air circulation, one in the floor and a second in the ceiling. With the ground vent covered, it was only a matter of time. Bolevard chased the mouse around the room for fifteen minutes but in the end, he wouldn’t be denied. Bolevard stomped on it a couple times and the mouse died.
You gained 2 Exp.
Bolevard looked over the mouse’s body, but there was no note, no sigil. He heard Sylph’s muffled voice coming up from under his boot. Bolevard removed the boot and ducked down near the hole.
“Did you get the mouse?” Sylph asked.
“I got a mouse. But there was no note on it, so it might have been a different one,” Bolevard replied, though he doubted that was the case. What was the chance that two mice had been hanging around the vent at the same time when it often took three or four days to attract a single one?
“Well… we’ll just have to keep trying,” said Sylph. “It’s only a matter of time before we find a way.”
“I know,” said Bolevard. He would have gone on to say something equally supportive, but was interrupted by two sets of footsteps coming down the hall.
“They’re back,” Sylph gasped. It pained Bolevard to hear her voice like that, almost as much as it did to hear that dreadful echoed tapping. Bolevard’s growing Oxygen Deprivation Resistance had removed all worry that he’d accidently drown if his torturers went too far and improved how fast he recovered after the sessions, but it didn’t change the pain he experienced during the process in the least.
“Shit, I need to clean this place up,” Bolevard said, scrambling to throw the mouse corpse under his bed before running to the sink for water to mop things up. Bolevard tried his best, but he wasn’t going to make it. For such a small creature, the blood seemed to be everywhere: a full square foot on the floor, all across one of Bolevard’s boots, and somehow a thin line splashed halfway up one wall. Worst of all, the wet rag wasn’t helping, it was only spreading the red around. Bolevard’s heart pounded harder and harder as the footsteps grew louder and when they stopped, it was almost as if Bolevard’s heart stopped. ‘How would they react to such a mess?’ Bolevard wasn’t sure, but he doubted it’d be good. Mr. Blond always relished an excuse to be extra excessive.