by Alex Archer
“Good.” Godwin turned back around. “Because, unfortunately, I don’t think that they will give us any option but to kill them.”
“It feels weird, though,” Annja said. “We’re going out to kill them. This is an assassination mission more than anything else.”
“It’s a mission to stop the evil they intend to unleash.” Godwin shrugged. “I don’t have a problem reconciling it in my mind.”
“Have you taken a life before?”
This time Godwin didn’t turn around. “What do you think, Annja? Do you feel like I have?”
Annja shrugged and watched as Nyaktuk altered his course. She followed suit. “I don’t know. Like I said last night, there are many parts of you. And a lot of them I haven’t seen yet.”
“Give it time and you will,” Godwin said. “That much I can promise.”
“I don’t doubt it,” Annja said. “But will I like what I see when you do show me?”
Godwin shrugged. “I suppose we’ll find out when the time is right.”
Annja nodded. That they would. But the tone of his voice made Annja wonder exactly what he would show her. She didn’t think that Godwin was a greenhorn when it came to violence. She had already seen how he’d handled himself at the bar in Inuvik. Those unaccustomed to fighting didn’t move the way Godwin had.
No, she thought, he knows how to fight.
And to kill.
Part of that realization made her feel safer, given what they were riding toward.
But another part of it worried her.
A lot.
30
They traveled quickly over the thick snow that bulked the surrounding landscape with dizzying depths throughout the winter months. The sledges helped ease the strain of the travel by bearing the heavy loads, but the going was still tough in places where they had to plow through chest-high drifts. Fierce winds blew down from the ocean and through the forests they traveled through. While the trees broke up some of the force, in some places, they only served to intensify the blasts. Annja felt cold even when she huddled in front of the blazing fires they built to ward off as much of the chill as they could at night.
They built snow caves, using what nature had already provided, rather than use wood that could instead be spent on building the fire larger and hotter. They crowded inside and built small ledges so the colder air inside dropped to the floor and the heat rose to warm their bodies. Inside the caves, the temperature soared to an almost bearable forty degrees, but huddled inside their sleeping bags, they survived the bitterly cold nights, only to emerge at dawn to another day of relentless cold.
For Annja, despite her travels to the bottom of the world, this cold seemed far worse. It never stopped trying to find ways to infiltrate the many layers she wore. On the second day of their travels, Annja thought about how nice a long, hot bath would be. She imagined the heat seeping into her sore muscles. The cold seemed to shrink everything about her as her very cells clustered together in a vain attempt to find heat amid the frigid conditions.
Wishman drove them on a course that defied logic. They would travel east for a distance, then south, only to turn west and then head north for a short distance before once again turning east. Annja had questioned him about it the first time he did it.
“Are we lost?”
He merely shook his head once, as if doing any more would cost too much of his body heat. “No. But you must always act as though you are being followed. Then you plan accordingly.”
Annja frowned. Who would have been following them through this misery? They were already hunting Derek and Hansen. Was there a chance they had passed them already and now the evil demon worshippers were on their trail instead? Or was it just ancient Araktak wisdom that suggested using trickery to confound potential pursuers even when there weren’t any?
Regardless, they traveled on, ever on, toward the mountains and Ragjik Pass. Godwin seemed immune to the cold, even though Annja knew how much he hated it. Or at least, she knew how much he claimed to hate it. Despite the shivering wind chill that sucked every bit of thermal energy away from them, Godwin never once complained. Even Nyaktuk expressed wonder at his seemingly calm demeanor. Nyaktuk himself had started complaining about the ever-present wind.
Wishman called it a spirit and Annja remembered that the Inuit belief was that every living thing had a soul. Probably, she reasoned, they would have gifted the environment with spirits of its own. And when the wind blew as hard as it did, it only made it seem as though they had aroused the wrath of a vengeful, blustery deity.
The sledges carried them far across the forest and tundra of the frozen north. At night, Annja swore she heard the howls of wolves in the distance. Godwin always volunteered to take the first watch and stayed poised by the entrance of the snow cave with his rifle in gloved hands while the others slept.
On the third day of travel, Wishman stopped frequently. Annja found herself wondering if the old man had it in him to push the pace as he was. God knows how old he is, she thought. And he really ought to be at home resting in front of a blazing fire instead of out here in the wilderness.
He glanced at her then and she saw the familiar twinkle in his eyes. It was as if he had read her mind but only shrugged as if to say, What’s the use of being alive if you choose to hide inside all the time?
Wishman turned back to consulting the small bones he carried with him in his jacket. Instead of casting them on the ground, he now cast them on the backpacks on top of the sledges. Each time he threw them, he bent close and seemed to study them carefully for minutes on end.
Annja grew frustrated. Each stop was costing them time. And time meant that Derek and Hansen might get closer to their next destination.
She frowned. If they even were headed in this direction. As much faith as she had in Wishman, she had to wonder if they were on the right track or not. Wasn’t it possible that the two evil ones had simply fled the Arctic and journeyed back home to regroup? Couldn’t they even now be enjoying a hot cup of coffee and planning their revenge?
The thought of it didn’t exactly make her happy, but it also underscored her own concern that they might simply be wasting their time on a fruitless and extremely taxing journey.
Still, Wishman led them and on the afternoon of the third day, as the sun started its descent, they at last spotted the mountains in the east.
Annja caught her breath at the sight of them. Their craggy peaks rose like proud, weathered faces turned into the wind, accepting all the abuse the icy gales heaped upon them without uttering a word of complaint. She could see the thick snows that blanketed them and the exposed rock that ran through the blanket of white like gray-and-black veins. The entire appearance gave the area a very strange look.
Wishman pointed at the mountains. “That is our destination. And there is where we will find our prey.”
They set up camp that night in the shadow of a nearby hill, positioning them so they were on the leeward side out of the wind. Nyaktuk and Godwin constructed the snow cave while Wishman fed long sticks into the fire. Annja found that her sword was quite useful in chopping down dead branches of nearby trees and she carried a heaping bundle in her arms back to the camp.
Godwin had also constructed a heat wall to throw some of the precious heat back toward the snow cave’s entrance. It didn’t work quite as well as they’d all hoped it would.
As night fell, they ate by the fire, chewing on the meat that had frozen over the course of the day, their jaws working on the freshly defrosted meal. Annja found herself working twice as hard to ingest enough calories. Her body seemed to be burning through the food she took in at an alarming rate.
They drank hot coffee as soon as it boiled, knowing that it would cool rapidly. Annja’s breath stained her face and then froze there, giving her a sheet of frost on her skin.
When they crawled into the snow cave that night, Wishman laid out their plans for the next day.
“Tomorrow, we will make for Ragjik Pass. It should
take us most of the day to reach the mountain and then from there, we will have to leave the sledges and climb up the narrow trail that few know about.”
Annja looked at him. “And how do you know about it?”
Wishman smiled. “Because I have climbed Ragjik once before.”
Annja frowned. “I thought you said no one ever comes back from there.”
“I did,” Wishman said. “I climbed but did not have the courage to enter the pass itself.” He frowned and looked down at the floor of the snow cave. “I pray that tomorrow I will be able to forego my former cowardice and enter it as I should have long, long ago.”
“Well,” Annja said, “we’ll be with you. You won’t be alone this time. That should make it a little easier at least.”
Wishman sighed. “I was not alone before. In my youth, I traveled to the pass with my best friend. He and I set out determined to climb and enter the pass. We would camp there a night and then return home having proved that the pass was safe and not haunted. For us, as boys, it was our chance to test our bravery against the legends that had haunted us for many years.”
He shifted, trying to get more comfortable in his sleeping bag. “But when we approached the mountain, some kind of fear gripped me like never before. I was young, true, but this felt like an old fear. It was almost a living thing. I had already started my studies into the mystical rituals of the Araktak, so perhaps I was more attuned to such things. But for my friend, he could not understand my sudden lack of resolve.”
Annja found herself holding her breath as Wishman continued his tale. “Of course, my friend challenged me to climb with him. He taunted me, trying to galvanize me into action. But it would not work. I told him I would not climb the mountain and I would not enter the pass.”
Godwin watched from where he sat wrapped up by the entrance of the cave. “You do not have to relive this tale,” he said.
Wishman shook his head. “No, I should. It may help me tomorrow when I once again face that dreaded place.” He paused and then took a breath. “At last, my friend was able to convince me to at least journey up the mountain with him. He would then enter the pass while I returned to our camp at the base of the mountain. As much as I did not want to go, I agreed and we set out that next morning.
“The winds blew ferociously that next day as if the very spirits of the north were trying to keep us away. I saw it as an omen, but my friend did not. He was determined to press on and dragged me with him, urging me ever forward despite the growing fear in my belly.
“The trail we took only allowed passage one at a time so we climbed single file up the treacherous pathway. Everywhere there was the chance for a misstep and a sudden plunge to death. The higher we climbed, the less sure the footing became. We contested with snowdrifts that blocked the trail in sections. And there were loose bits of shale and slate that cascaded down the mountain at us when we managed to find parts of the trail not covered by snow.
“The day grew long and our feet never stopped moving. I had not realized that the mountain would stand as tall as it did. From the base camp we’d made, it looked as though we could climb it in a matter of hours.”
“But that wasn’t the case?” Annja asked.
“You will see tomorrow.”
Annja turned back to her bag and nestled herself down as Wishman continued his story.
“We pressed on and a blizzard came down on us, tearing at our exposed skin and clothes with equal ferocity. I found that for every step I took going forward, the wind would push me back two. My friend urged me on. I sometimes think he needed to hear his voice yelling at me to help steel his own nerve. I think he had also begun to falter, but he would not give up the quest as readily as I.
“At last, we drew up to a secluded section and the wind abruptly died. Overhead, a giant boulder acted as a roof and we paused in our travel to have a small meal. The wind had died and the snows had stopped falling. This brief interlude should have caused us to reconsider our plans.
“I pleaded with my friend that we should descend the mountain and go home, but he wouldn’t hear of it. He took the lull in the storm as indication that we should press on. He told me that the pass was just a mile further ahead and that we would be there in no time.
“I tried one final time and then told him I would not go any further. He was welcome to taunt me all he wanted, but I had had enough. I hated the thought of leaving him there, but my own sense of self-preservation demanded that I get myself back down the mountain.”
“He didn’t go with you?” Annja asked.
Wishman shook his head. “No. He stayed there. He said he would rest and then journey on to the pass by himself. He was angry with me for not coming along. I think part of him believed that if he was able to get me to climb that I might forget my fear and agree to go all the way. But that wasn’t the case. Each step of the climb only served to convince me more that we should not have been there.”
“What happened?” asked Godwin.
Wishman sighed. “I somehow managed to get myself back down the mountain to our base camp. I was ragged by the time I made it. My nerves had left me long ago and my strength dwindled to the point of sheer exhaustion. I made myself a fire and tucked in to try to rest. I was hoping that my friend would appear at any moment and we would be together again before starting for home.”
Wishman took a deeper breath. “At midnight, I heard an awful shriek such as I had never heard before and have never heard since. It tumbled off of the mountain and I heard it plain as day despite the howling wind. I knew in my heart that my friend had managed to make it to the pass. What had happened to him then, I had no idea. But I knew he wouldn’t be coming back down the mountain to meet me.
“In the morning, I packed up and headed back to our village. I told everyone that we had gotten separated on the way in a storm and I had managed to find my way back. They sent searchers to try to find him, of course, but no one would ever go near the mountain. And so he was gone. And I alone survived. Perhaps I shouldn’t have.”
Annja glanced at Godwin, but his face seemed hardened to stone. Annja saw Wishman turn over and drift off to sleep. Nyaktuk had already fallen asleep at some point during the story, but Annja felt certain he already knew the tale.
She dug herself deeper into her sleeping bag and thought about what was coming tomorrow. And then she thought about Wishman’s story for a long time until sleep mercifully claimed her.
31
The snow fell deep that night, caking the cave in a fresh layer of six inches of fluffiness that belied the frigid nature of the landscape. Annja blew through the last bit of snow and then clawed her way out of the snow cave to stand in the gray light of the day. Overhead, thick clouds blotted out the sun and flakes continued to spiral downward.
Wishman stood next to her. “It will snow for the remainder of the day. Perhaps several days,” he said.
He looked at the sky and the deep crevices on his face caught the daylight and turned them into shadowy trenches running the length of his countenance. He’s seen a lot of life, thought Annja. His wrinkles tell their own tales of battle.
“I’ve never forgotten the sound of my friend’s scream,” Wishman said. “The way it carried out over the mountain and fell into the deepest parts of my soul. It has remained there for many years. It haunts me. And I think I’ve known ever since that night that my destiny would one day bring me back here to face my fear anew.”
Annja faced the mountain. In the wake of the story Wishman told them, it looked even more imposing than when she’d seen it yesterday for the first time. She could make out no sign of a trail winding its way up the boulders and slick runs. But she knew it would be there. Most likely it was an old game trail used by goats and the like as they prowled the nooks looking for something to eat.
Now it would lead them up the mountain toward the pass.
“How long will it take us to climb?” she asked.
He grunted. “With the weather? I don’t know. Cond
itions down here are pleasant enough, but on the mountain, they’ll be far worse. The winds alone will reduce our mobility.”
“So, how long?”
Wishman looked at her. “We arrive when we arrive. To plan otherwise would be foolish.”
Annja nodded. Nyaktuk was readying his sledge, while Godwin made sure the packs were tied down tight. Annja walked over and pointed at the back of the sledge. “I’ll take the first shift.”
Godwin didn’t argue. He’d insisted on spending the majority of the night on watch. Annja had seen how he gripped the rifle.
Annja wasn’t sure what was going on in his mind. Perhaps there was something in Godwin’s own past that drove him on like this. Another aspect of his being that Annja had not yet glimpsed.
She felt no sense of danger from him in terms of a threat, but there seemed to be a new cloak of intensity that had settled about his shoulders and emanated from his pores. Godwin the shy driver was forever gone. Whether he was embracing his inner Araktak, Annja didn’t know. But she did know that she felt much more comfortable knowing that Godwin was on their side.
They set off from the snow cave after reducing it to a scattered pile of snow. They extinguished their fire and buried all traces of their passage. The deep welts left by the runners of the sledges would frost over with the fresh fallen snow and soon only the trees would know of their passage through this part.
By midmorning they had reached the base of the mountain. Wishman hopped off the sledge and took his time scanning the nearby area. Godwin watched him.
“He’s looking for the way into the trail,” Nyaktuk said.
“Is this the first time you’ve been here?” Annja asked.
Nyaktuk didn’t take his eyes off Wishman but nodded. “The stories are ones we’ve all heard. But Wishman’s willingness to share his personal story with you last night is something I’ve never seen him do before. I know that he feels very strongly about stopping those two men.”