by Hans Kneifel
Farnathia ran on a few steps but then came back, pleading excitedly. “Let’s get home! Fratulon will help us!”
I shook my head obstinately while keeping an eye on the nearby sled dogs, who were becoming restless. I gave Farnathia the package of ointment. “Run across and get Fratulon—tell him what’s happened! Hurry! I’ll hold them back!”
As she ran away, as her boot heels crunched through the snow and the dogs began to howl, a fragment of memory leapt into my mind. There was a similar scene inside a palace-like building that seemed to glitter in crystalline splendour. Chased by a gang of men, I finally concealed myself behind one of the many doors and great portals of the palace. Names which had no meaning here flashed before me like so many phantoms…Gonozal the 7th…Arkon… the Great Methane War…
The door and my backbone were both shaken by furious blows. My hand gripped the hilt of my long-bladed weapon. I knew we had to get out of here as soon as possible. This beautiful girl was a constant temptation to the men in this
territory.
I heard Sorlack bellowing. “Get away from that door, greenhorn!”
“No way!” I shouted back. “The first one out is a deadman!”
“We’re not going to hurt you!” yelled someone else.
The dogs raised up from the snow and came closer. Outside the courtyard wall in the village clearing I heard footsteps… noises, voices. Fratulon? I slowly got away from the door. Orienting myself to my surroundings, I made a jump. Seconds later I held a bundle of sharply honed harpoons in my hands. Their leather straps and synthetic lead-lines slipped through the snow.
“You molested the girl!” I shouted. “I’m warning you!”
With a loudly complaining sound the door was carefully opened. Sorlack stuck out his swarthy head and looked at me. “You young fool!” he snapped at me. “We were just fooling around—and you almost severed this trapper’s wrists in here!”
“This isn’t fooling around!” I threatened him. I stood there with my legs braced apart and my throwing arm high, aiming a harpoon.
My breath made a cloud of vapour around my head. The needle point of the hunting weapon was aimed straight at Sorlack. There were footsteps behind me and I heard the stocky little man breathing hard as he dashed into the courtyard. As ever, he moved like a lean-muscled athlete, warrior-trained from head to toe. Few men knew that those apparent bulges of fat on him were knots of powerful muscle.
He came to a stop behind me and yelled out: “What’s going on here? I’ll permit no blood to be spilled!”
Sorlack threw the door wide open and spoke in some confusion. “Sir, blood has been spilled! Your son here has wounded a man.”
I did not move while the harpoon point still aimed at Sorlack, not wavering a fraction of an inch. “They molested Farnathia, Fratulon.”
Fratulon’s voice was as hard and sharp as an icicle. “Is that true, Sorlack?”
Other shadowy figures loomed behind the massive trader as the sun lowered in a glowing red sky behind the snow clouds.
“It was a joke,” he said. “You know how we are—hard maybe, but rough and hearty. The boys here were just fooling around.”
As Fratulon moved cautiously around me, his full-length cloak of fur revealed a flash of his breast armour which shone like burnished brass. In some language that was unknown to me he hissed something at the dogs. The animals drew their tails between their legs and slinked away, whimpering into a far corner. Now the door was fully open and the other men pressed out past the trader. A cutting wind came up from the West.
Fratulon had his hand on the hilt of Skarg as he announced loudly: “Then it was all a misunderstanding. The girl is not accustomed to your crude ways. She was scared to death. This young man has been trained to be a swift and deadly fighter and he defended the girl because he’s in love with her. And you have carried your hospitality a bit too far. Do you wish satisfaction, gentlemen?”
Sorlack called out: “No, not me. Far as I’m concerned, nothing’s happened. But this hunter here has a couple of sliced wrists.”
Sawbones, who was an outstanding physician, gave me a sign to stay back and then approached the men. He examined the man’s cuts and shook his head, speaking in a tone of authority. “Atlan! Go home and help Ice Claw and Farnathia. I’ll take care of these wounds. On this planet there is too much fighting and dyingwe’ve all got to keep our heads about us.”
“Truly spoken,” rumbled Sorlack. “You said a mouthful! But come inside-I don’t want to give warmth to this storm.”
Fratulon came over to me, placing a hand on my shoulder to calm me down. No words were needed. I laid down the harpoon and went out. I crossed the outer clearing to our rented ‘white tent’ of a house and helped prepare our equipment and supplies for our imminent departure. The task was like the country, hard, burdensome, unrelenting-and just a bit too big for the four of us.
As I discussed it with Ice Claw, the weirdly transparent Chretkor expressed his own feelings. “I know it will be the death of me. I’ll freeze and turn into ice.
Then I’ll shatter like an icicle. But all the same, I’m coming with you!”
2/ GHOSTS IN THE SNOW
We had been 6 hours under way.
Fratulon sat in the driver’s seat and guided the clattering snow car through terrain where the route was perceived more by instinct than by sight. I hunched next to Sawbones and observed the faint trail that a trap-setter must have made. The trembling compass needle pointed generally in the direction we were following.
“The fear of death knows no luxury!” grumbled Fratulon. He turned the steering wheel which the former owner had bound with a wrapping of cord. “That’s
something you’ll learn one day, my lad.”
“I’m freezing!” complained Ice Claw.
I finally turned to Farnathia and held her hand for awhile. The girl did not appear to be frightened; her trust in Fratulon was greater than mine. We didn’t even have a map.
“Luxuries?-who needs them here?” I said, just as our front wheels climbed over a yard-high boulder and the car reared up like a crazy horse. The tractor treads clanked heavily against the stone and ground their way through in a shower of sparks until the wheels touched ground again. “But this old crate is something less than a luxury!” I muttered, finally loosening my compulsive grip on my fur-lined seat, which had been necessary to keep me from being catapulted clear through the metal roof of the cab.
At present we were following a frozen creek bed where 3 feet of snow concealed the thick ice of the small stream beneath. White drifts and embankments passed us on either side where we could see the crisscross tracks of animals. All the trees were en-shrouded by hoods of snow. A sallow winter sun shone feebly over the Pale Land.
“Atlan, are you sure this car isn’t going to explode?” Farnathia pulled back the furlined cowl of her cape and anxiously drew away from the dull-red glow of the burner tube. The small porthole next to her in the coffin-like confines of the cabin was covered with frost.
“I can’t be that sure but at least everything is still working.” I turned to her and smiled encouragingly.
But I was thinking: hopefully old Sawbones had been exaggerating last night when he had told us about the snow ghosts. Even a relatively harmless attack could be the end of us here. My tension grew the more we put distance between us and Seuder’s Tent Town. Six or more hours, a disturbing stretch of the way, and yet some 20 days of journeying lay before us.
“Do you know where you’re going, Fratulon?” I asked.
He nodded. “Yes—by heart. I could drive this at night if I had to. Besides, it’s straight North. You want to take over?”
I waved off the invitation to drive. “Later. Are you satisfied with my jury-rigged repairs?”
At murderous prices we had bought various spare parts which I had installed. Our fuel supply of lightweight oil was injected into the burner chamber which had also been packed with brown charcoal or marsh-wood plus marrow fat
and other wood. Steam was being generated inside the long, narrow pressure tank that extended between the seats, adding to our uneasiness. The high-pressure steam drove a turbine arrangement which was connected by a rigid geared shaft to the generator. This in turn powered the separate motors in the wheel hubs and in the drive housing of the tractor chains. Everything was still holding together and the clock and other few instruments mounted between Fratulon and myself still registered a reassuring level of operation.
As we emerged from the level canyon of the creek bed into more open country, the compass needle veered slowly. Before us a broad valley spread out into the distance. Its slopes were fairly gentle but farther up where the white snows melted into the bright grey sky they were quite high and rugged.
“We going straight ahead?” asked Ice Claw. “I hope I won’t have to go outside!”
Fratulon seemed to sense that Ice Claw was ready to give voice to his anxieties again, which was his temporary way of getting rid of them.
“Ice Claw!” The one-time gladiator did not turn from the wheel as he spoke to the Chretkor.
“What’s the matter?” asked the dwarfish little alien creature, who had most of his transparent hide covered with furs.
“You’re sitting far enough away from the burner exhaust so at least you won’t have to be afraid of melting.
Ice Claw blew his breath against the frost-covered porthole on his side but then looked again through the front windshield which was kept defrosted both outside and in by an auxiliary blower system.
“You have a point there, Sawbones! I wasn’t thinking of heat. Come to think of it, I’m rather snuggy comfy.”
“Great! Now listen. We have 20 days of oil supply in the tank. We have axes and saws if we have to get firewood. You don’t have to get out of the car. So that means you’re not going to freeze. At least not to the point where you explode into a hail of crystals. Just relax and depend on us to bring you to a place where you’ll feel even better than you do now.”
The snowmobile steamer continuously picked up speed as it glided along over the snow and ice. The wide-tread brute-sized wheels ground forward through the soft drifts, the tractor chains rattled and clattered and the battered bearings set up a hellish clamour. Farther ahead there seemed to be a lake which was outlined by the contours and slope of the land Except for Warm Spot there were only about 50 days out of the year in this region that were without snow and ice. At present, all was solidly frozen—in fact on the broad, flat plain before us there was but a single tree to be seen.
“You are my friend!” asserted Ice Claw. “I will help you to reach your station.”
The old physician merely grunted. Rattling and squeaking along, we gradually approached our goal. We were always seeing animal tracks or running through them—marks left by small, inoffensive creatures as well as by large and dangerous beasts or perhaps even the snow ghosts.
Without any preamble Fratulon relaxed at the wheel and began to tell us a story. “I remember one time after a bloody victory in the arena we all sat down to an excellent feast. The most beautiful dancing girls in the city were entertaining us. And the finest musicians! They seemed to be having a contest to see who could delight our ears the most. Sweating chefs roasted and simmered and broiled an endless variety of delicacies for us to make our palates celebrate as well. We felt like gods. The tables before us groaned with food and wine. Suddenly-I can see it as though it were today-the waiters came to a stop. The lively sound of the music was silenced. The dancers seemed to turn into warm-skinned, diaphanously clad statuettes. Then a curtain opened and a girl entered the hall. She was a miracle of beauty and her eyes gleamed with the impetuous fires of a noonday sun.…”
I had to interrupt him, leaning forward and pointing past his head. “Fratulon— over there!” I blurted out.
Fratulon’s bristly beard fairly trembled as he replied: “Snow ghosts! They’re just watching us. There’s still no danger.”
We could see them plainly. Ice Claw and Farnathia leaned over our shoulders to also have a look. We could see 5 or 6 figures standing on top of a cliff that stood out on the plain like a tower. They were covered with dirty yellow furs of some kind and were not overly discernible against the snow background. They had the appearance of erect primates, something like giant, slender apes with long hair and small round heads. They stood in a small,huddled group yet seemed to move restlessly about at the same time so that it was difficult to make them out individually. The clifftop was about 40 meters high and perhaps 100 meters ahead of the snout of our snowmobile.
Fratulon’s voice was sombre as he announced: “Those are actually snow ghosts, alright. I hadn’t expected to see them yet.”
Ice Claw whimpered: “What do you mean—yet?!” Fratulon worked the accelerator valve. More steam rushed to the turbine and revved it up. More power was fed to the motors. The car picked up more speed. The screeching of the ancient bearings became an unbearable sound that rang in our ears like a cry of anguish.
“We’re in the Pale Land,” said Fratulon. “In about 10 days we will have reached Warm Spot. From there we head straight toward the Pole to get to our base. Between Warm Spot and the Pole you hardly see any snow ghosts, if at all, but they do wander about in the region we still have to cover to get to Warm Spot. It’s just a little early to be seeing them, that’s all. Anyway, last night you didn’t want to believe me. What I wanted to say was that I didn’t expect to see them this close to Sender’s Tent Town.”
I calmly asked him a pointed question: “What does one do to fend them off?”
Sawbones shrugged his shoulders apathetically. “The usual. If you run into them you can kill them.”
This meant that they didn’t normally show themselves in the open or come close enough, so it appeared that we wouldn’t be able to use our three weapons against them.
“And… what could they do to us, Fratulon?” asked the girl. Meanwhile she sank back into her seat and strapped herself in again.
I didn’t take my eyes off the distant figures. One of them on the cliff edge pointed to us. I could imagine what we must have looked like in their eye—a box-shaped thing with a long tube that black smoke came out of, to be swept away by the wind, and with man-high wheels that left a wide trail and a cloud of whirling snow behind them. Down here on the valley floor we probably appeared to be small and harmless—just the right size to make a surprise attack against. They were said to be incredibly savage and excitable, attacking everything that moved.
Especially things that were undeniably the product of man.
“Nothing, if we can help it,” Fratulon finally answered.
I knew him well enough to know that he was only pretending to be self
composd—in fact he virtually radiated an air of confidence—yet that sharp mind of his was already considering the possibility of having a run-in with the monsters.
“So—can we help it?” squealed Ice Claw anxiously.
“I don’t know. At any rate we’ll have to be on our toes in the next few days. Look, Atlan, they’re leaving!”
“I know.”
The group was more discernible at the moment but it retreated slowly and somewhat reluctantly.
“I believe they are some kind of mutant offshoots of the beings who built Tarkihl,” said Fratulon. “I’ve already made a number of attempts to establish
contact with them.”
“And…?” Farnathia inquired.
“No results. It’s not possible. Presumably they didn’t understand what I was
trying to do. I’ve had to kill a few of them.”
“Do you think they would recognize you again?” the girl wanted to know.
“No. In those days I had more hair and I didn’t have a beard.”
“Is anybody hungry or thirsty?” asked Farnathia and she began to rummage
through various food packages next to her. We were still racing along at a considerable speed between the rising foothills.
�
��Yes, I’m hungry,” said Fratulon.
“I’m not,” I told her.
Still 20 days to go, give or take a few. Twenty grinding days through this snow country that blinded the eyes and brought pain to the retinas. We were not only threatened by the dangers of storms and wild animals but now also by these strange creatures we had seen.
Fratulon’s elbow jolted me back into the present reality. “Spell me off awhile, Atlan,” he said. “Up ahead is another lake. In 3 hours it’ll be dark, but I want to spare the headlights for a while. There’s a cave on the other side of the lake where we can find shelter. I’ll show you the way.
“You’re on!” I answered.
Instead of getting out we slowed down the speed and scrabbled across each other. I strapped myself into the driver seat. By comparison with the earlier part of our journey the going now was as smooth as on a paved street. But that could soon change—in fact, for certain. I readjusted the power output, took a look at the sun’s position and drove onward.
I noticed a change among us after I had only driven a short distance. I as well as the others had become quiet and less inclined to converse. The prospect of some 20 days more of this dangerous journey seemed to dim our hopes of ever flying away from Gortavor. Fratulon’s hidden ship, the Omirgos, was our salvation but under the present circumstances it appeared to be unattainably distant.
“The lake is frozen over,” mumbled Fratulon indistinctly as he sank his teeth into a slab of roast beef.
I grinned humourlessly. “That figures-considering how cold it is.”
“Will you listen to the lad!” growled Fratulon indignantly. “That’s really something—wisecracks with the sinking sun in your face and the first snow ghosts behind you. But I think the next 20 days will cure you!”
He gave me a broad, knowing grin while his eyes narrowed to slits. I trusted this remarkable man who could always come up with new tricks with the greatest of ease, at a time when other men would give up. Only I knew how much discipline lay behind the ability of this versatile man. Although I was an orphan whom he had found somewhere and raised, I was his son in more than one sense of the word. I had him to thank for what I could do. What he had not been able to teach me I had learned from his friends who were even more remarkable than he, if possible.