Time of the Great Freeze

by Robert Silverberg

  "He is dead," Kennart said mercilessly. "Do you wish to die, too?"

  "We can still save him," Jim grunted. He lashed out at Kennart with his elbows, twisted, tried to land a solid blow. But the ice dweller held Jim at arm's length, fingers locked in place on Jim's neck. Slowly, humiliatingly, with one arm alone, he forced him to his knees.

  By this time, the others had come up, all but those in the sleds, who had halted abruptly when Chet vanished. Kennart released Jim, who got to his feet, glaring and rubbing his neck.

  The fissure in the ice was completely closed now. There was no way of knowing where Chet had gone under.

  Kennart said slowly, "He is gone, and we could not have saved him. The water draws the life from a man in moments. It sucks out the warmth. If you had gone to help him, Jim, you would have fallen through and been lost also. One death does not prevent the other. I am sorry if I angered you, but your life was in danger."

  Jim did not answer. He stared in dull dismay at the treacherous ice. A hushed silence gripped the party. Ted Callison cracked his knuckles fiercely. Dr. Barnes shook his head in sadness.

  "Is it safe to go on?" he asked.

  Kennart nodded. "We must go on. It is dangerous here, but we will reach the open water safely. The ice has had the victim it demands."

  Stunned, chilled by the tragedy, the voyagers pushed onward, forming their V once again. No more than ten minutes ago, Chet had been alive, striding along in his loose-jointed, long-legged way, perhaps thinking of fish he planned to catch the next time they stopped to rest. And now he bobbed lifeless beneath the ice, snuffed out in the flickering of an eye. They could not even put his body to rest. They could only mourn silently, and go on.

  Up ahead, Kennart was walking carefully but at his usual pace. Jim hesitated each time he put his foot down. The ice still seemed solid to him, but there might be other deadly traps waiting here, places where the ice was only paper-thin over a pocket of air, places where darkness might gleam suddenly out of the whiteness and claim a life.

  Onward they went, detouring, zigzagging. Now it was Carl who walked to Jim's left; Roy and Ted made up the ends of the V, and Dr. Barnes had gone back to drive one of the sleds. Like the Dooney folk, the ice pack had claimed its toll.

  They continued until the first shadows of night were falling. Their meal was a silent one that night, and no one spoke afterward. Jim slept badly, tossing and turning, eternally seeing the ice yawning to engulf Chet. It seemed to him as though they were moving across the skin of some giant creature, who might at any moment grow angered at them and destroy them with a shrug.

  In the morning, they were on their way almost as soon as dawn had broken-once again, on foot, so that they covered only a few miles. But by midmorning Kennart told them they could return to the sleds. "The ice is stronger here," he said.

  "How does he know?" Carl demanded, as they once more began to move at a fast pace. "Suppose he's wrong?"

  "He's risking his own life as well as ours," Jim replied. "He isn't in any hurry to reach the sea. If he thinks it's safer here, it's because he's got good reason to think it."

  When they stopped at noon, Kennart pointed toward the east, and said, "Tomorrow we will reach the sea. I give you my pledge of that."

  "Then it wasn't impossible!" Jim said.

  Kennart smiled distantly. "No," he said. "My father was mistaken. He said it could not be done, but he was wrong. It can be done. We will do it. Nothing is impossible. Nothing!"

  11

  RAIDERS OF THE SEA

  The golden fire of midday danced across the field of ice. The sleds had halted, for they could go no farther. Fifty yards ahead, the ice shield came to an end. Beyond, a thousand ice floes bobbed and drifted in the open water. Islands of ice, some of them only a few feet across, others a hundred yards or more in diameter, swirled, crashed against one another, rose high out of the water for a moment before falling back.

  Jim walked as close to the edge of the ice field as he dared, and looked out across the water.

  The sea!

  It was a stupefying sight. Where there had been unending whiteness, now there was dark blue, stretching to the boundaries of the world. The wind swept low, blowing the surface of the water up into wavelets tipped with white caps of foam. Up off the sea came the salty breeze, cold but invigorating. Jim felt faintly dazed by the thought of such a bulk of water lying in their path.

  "Here we wait," Kennart said. "The Sea People will come ashore along this coast."

  "How long will it be?" Dr. Barnes asked.

  Kennart shook his head and grinned, showing gleaming white teeth. "A day," he said. "Or six days, or twenty. Who knows the way of the Sea People? But they come here. They sail past, and put men ashore to hunt."

  It seemed like madness, Jim thought-to camp here by the edge of the sea, waiting for the landing of seafarers who might put in to shore anywhere within a thousand miles. But he knew they had no choice. They could not contact the Sea People. And Kennart had agreed to wait with them. He would not leave them, he said, until he saw them safely to sea.

  They waited.

  It was not the most comforting place in the world to camp. The ice seemed sturdy enough, here, but every now and then a vast chunk would crack free of the ice shelf and go drifting out into the open water. Late on the day of their arrival, an ice mass at least a hundred feet in diameter broke away on a voyage of its own. But Kennart didn't seem troubled. So long as they all stayed together, it did not appear really to matter whether they remained on the mainland or went bobbing off on a little ice-floe island. The seafarers, he said, would find them all the same. If he were worried about his own return trip, he kept those worries out of sight.

  * * *

  On the second day the cry went up: "A sail! A sail! They're coming!"

  Jim looked out to sea. It was a thrilling sight: a ship coming down from the north, sailing parallel to the shore, weaving its way riskily between the butting, rearing floes of ice. The ship was bigger than Jim had expected, more than a hundred feet long, its hull made of wood planks painted a bright red. A sail of black cloth bellied in the breeze. On the ship's prow a fearsome figurehead was carved: a dragon's neck, ending in a grisly head whose eyes were glittering yellow, whose savage teeth looked like wolf teeth mounted in the wood.

  Through the binoculars, Jim could make out figures moving aboard the ship-husky men clad in leather doublets, brawny figures with long hair, long beards.

  "They see us," Carl said. "They're putting in toward shore."

  "How can they reach it?" Jim asked. "They'll be caved in by the floating islands of ice."

  Kennart laughed. "They know their trade," he said quietly. "They will have no trouble."

  He was right. With magnificent ease, the ship found a path through the floating ice, gliding gracefully in until it was within a dozen yards of shore. Crewmen appeared at the bow and threw down anchors. The seafarers' ship rode superbly in the water, ice snapping at its hull but unable to harm it.

  A ladder of animal hide was lowered. The seven men on the shore waited silently as the seafarers came ashore, marching down their hinged wooden gangplank.

  They came armed. They carried spears and daggers of bone, and short swords slung at their waists. A dozen of them left the ship, swaggering and bold, their faces set in harsh, unfriendly lines. Eight of the twelve were red-haired men. Their fiery manes and beards blazed in the midday sun. They filed ashore and arrayed themselves in a line, backs to the sea.

  One of them, the biggest and most fearsome, snapped something in an unfamiliar language studded with clicking consonants and broad vowels. Not a word was intelligible, but the meaning was clear enough: the seafarer wanted to know who the travelers were, and by what right they came here?

  "They speak not our tongue," Kennart whispered. "I will address them in theirs."

  He stepped forward. Adopting an expression every bit as arrogant as that of the man who faced him, Kennart made reply, spitting the wo
rds out as though it soiled his lips to have to utter such barbaric jargon.

  There was a long, crackling silence when Kennart finished speaking. Then the seafarer chief uttered a single syllable.

  Kennart turned red. He replied with two short, violent bursts of words, the sounds tumbling over one another as they emerged. It was the turn of the Sea People to grow hot with anger. They stirred menacingly, hands stealing to the hilts of their swords. Aboard the ship, dozens of bearded faces peered down, taking it all in.

  An argument was raging now. Voices were growing heated. Kennart said something, only to be shouted down by the sea-chief, and to shout the bearded one down in turn. The situation looked critical. Standing by the sled, Jim eyed a power torch, readying himself to grab it if matters came to a boil. But what would they do, he wondered, if there were a battle? They needed the co-operation of these Sea People, not their enmity.

  The negotiations seemed to have broken down. Kennart turned, stalked back to the tense group by the sleds. Scratching his chin thoughtfully, Kennart said, "It happens that they make voyage now to the far side of the ice. But they are not eager for passengers. They like not your looks, men of New York."

  "Our looks don't matter," Dr. Barnes said. "What will they take as fee to carry us? What do they need?"

  "Nothing you can give them," Kennart said. "There the troubles lies. The Sea People need only food from the shore, and that you cannot offer."

  "Are there sick men aboard?" Dr. Barnes asked. "We can try to heal them. We have medicines with us."

  Kennart returned and parleyed again with the seafarers chief. This time, the conversation was less heated; it seemed that the man of the sea was replying with irony now rather than with anger. For long moments they talked. Then Kennart walked back to the sleds.

  "He asked me why your faces were so pale," Kennart reported. "I told him you had come up out of the ice from a city in the Earth, and he laughed at me. He did not believe me. I told him of your journey, and said that the gods protected you, but he laughed at that, too. His gods are not mine. He said he has no sick men on board, no need of passengers, no wish to take you. He is half minded, he says, to kill you for the sport, and take your sleighs to sell to the people of the South."

  "Friendly sort," Jim muttered.

  Dr. Barnes said, "Isn't there any way we can buy a trip across? Anything we can give him?"

  Kennart smiled crookedly. "He said one thing, I think as a joke. He said if any of you can vanquish him in single combat, he will grant you passage. Otherwise he will take your lives. It is his way of amusing himself."

  "Impossible," Dr. Barnes said. "We couldn't-"

  "Wait, Dad," Jim cut in. He glanced at Kennart and said, "Tell him I accept his challenge, but I demand my choice of weapons."

  Kennart frowned. Dr. Barnes said, "What are you up to, Jim?"

  "Leave this to me, Dad."

  "You can't duel with that viking! He'll cut you to shreds, Jim! He must weigh almost three hundred pounds, and…"

  "I'll handle him," Jim said. "Go on, Kennart. Tell him I accept."

  "I forbid this, Jim," Dr. Barnes said.

  Jim looked steadily at his father. "I think I can handle this, Dad. It's our only chance to get across. If they don't take us, we're stranded here at the edge of the sea-provided they don't kill us outright. Give me the chance. Kennart's father didn't stop him. You're our chief. Let me do what I want to do."

  Dr. Barnes frowned uncertainly. He did not reply.

  But Kennart, as though grasping something that Jim's father could not or would not see, was already on his way back to the waiting sea-chief, who stood with folded arms, smiling coldly. They talked. Then Kennart turned.

  "He is amused," Kennart reported. "But he says he accepts, and wants to know your choice of weapons. Sword, spear, or dagger?"

  "None of those," Jim answered. "Tell him I'll fight him with bare hands!"

  Kennart's eyes widened. He said, "Now you joke, too?"

  "Bare hands!" Jim repeated.

  Kennart spoke, and the sea-chief broke into gales of laughter, roaring and stamping his feet in a way that threatened to buckle the entire ice shelf. His men were laughing, too, and one of them called up to the sailors on board the ship, who responded with hearty guffaws.

  Among the group of New Yorkers, though, there was no laughter. Dr. Barnes nodded at Jim, understanding at last.

  Kennart said to Jim, "He wants to know, is it to death you fight?"

  Jim said, "Tell him we'll fight until one of us admits defeat. There's no need to fight to death."

  Kennart spoke again. The sea-chief answered.

  Kennart said, "He agrees. He says, let the battle begin!"

  * * *

  The two groups formed a circle on the ice, the New Yorkers ranged by their sleds, the Sea People along the waters edge. Between them was an open space forty feet across. Jim moved out into the open and waited.

  The sea-chief was divesting himself of his sword and dagger, of his heavy outer coat of fur-trimmed leather. Jim, too, took off his outer coat. The temperature was above freezing, and he would need all the mobility he could summon.

  Jim was accustomed to this sort of combat-though never before had he fought for stakes like these. In the underground city, one had to keep in shape, or the body would rot, muscles sagging into shapelessness. Each level of New York had its own gymnasium, and there the citizens swam and exercised. An hour a day was compulsory until the age of sixteen; after that, it was a voluntary matter, but few neglected it. Jim had learned fencing in the gymnasium, and he had fair skill at it. But he did not trust himself against this sea captain's sword. Jim had other arts. He had learned wrestling from a master, and each year since boyhood had won medals in the city tournaments. His lean figure did not ripple with muscle, but his judo skill compensated for that. Long hours of practice had made Jim a cunning fighter. His skills had served him well enough against the chieftain of the Dooney folk. Would they be sufficient now?

  The combatants faced each other. Jim was perhaps an inch taller than the chief of the Sea People, but gave away nearly a hundred pounds. The sea-chief was massive, with arms thicker than Jim's legs, and legs whose thews bulged incredibly. It seemed as though he was twice Jim's breadth through the shoulders. Jim looked fragile, helpless against the older man. A sudden breeze might blow Jim away, or so it appeared to the onlookers. The muscles of the sea-chief swelled under the thin leather tunic. His red hair and flaming beard tossed in the wind. Jim, red-haired also, waited for the other to advance.

  The chief rumbled something whose meaning unmistakably was, "I'm going to break you in little pieces, boy!"

  Then he came ponderously forward.

  Jim did not move until the bulky captain was almost upon him. He stared straight into the fierce green eyes, and felt the ice shake as the big man pounded it. Two huge calloused hands reached for Jim. He let the hands actually touch his shoulders, then unexpectedly leaned back, falling away and to the side. The chief grunted in surprise, arms pinwheeling.

  Jim deftly broke his own fall, pivoted, grabbed one of the thick wrists. The sea captain was already toppling forward, off balance, and Jim levered against the ice, applying thrust in the direction the big man was going. His foot swept across the chieftain's shins, completing the job of upending him.

  The effect was impressive. The sea-chiefs legs went out from under him, and he fell belly-first, dealing the ice a slam such as nearly shattered it. He went skidding ten feet and came to a halt. Jim did not follow.

  There was murder in the captain's eye as he got to his feet. He extended his hands like two clutching claws and came charging toward Jim, rumbling in anger.

  This time Jim did not fall away. He sidestepped, feinted as though to go under the big man's left arm, swung around rapidly, and seized his opponent's right arm instead. Jim gasped as a balled fist smashed into his side, but followed through all the same, delicately twisting the right arm against its own axis. The chief s
pun around, helpless, his left arm flailing, and as he tried to keep Jim from breaking the right one altogether, Jim was able to ease himself into a leverage position for an overhead fling.

  A moment later the chief of the Sea People was soaring through the air, flipping over Jim's head and coming down with a sound like that of thunder against the ice.

  There was a deadly silence. The chief was slower to get up this time. Jim stood poised, panting, his side aching where the fist had struck him. He knew that if those monstrous fists ever hit home solidly, the fight would be over in that instant. But he was faster than the chief, and also a good deal smarter.

  A third time the big man approached his unpredictable adversary. He circled warily, uneasy about charging again. His hands clawed air; he seemed to be hoping that Jim would take the offensive and come within reach of a crushing hug. Jim had no such ideas, though. He waited patiently. He who lost patience first was going to end second best in this struggle.

  The chief snarled and spat. His eyes flashed defiance. He moved toward Jim, lifting his arms high overhead. As he began to bring them down, Jim darted in, jabbed the big man playfully in the belly with the side of his hand to draw a grunt, then chopped sharply against the chief's biceps. It was like chopping against a stone wall, but the shot had its effect. The chief pulled the injured arm in toward his side. Jim quickly slammed a second edge-on shot against the chief's funny bone.

  The big man howled in agony. With his left hand, he swatted at Jim as though trying to dispose of an irritating insect. It was a mistake. Jim caught the hand as it swung toward him, jerked it down and then up, did a little dance, and ended with the chief's arm doubled behind the massive body.

  "Down," Jim ordered. "Down or I'll break it right off!"

  The chief did not understand the words, but the idea got plainly across all the same. After a tentative, experimental attempt to break Jim's hold had shown him that any motion would only increase the pressure on his arm, the big man sank angrily to his knees.