by G Sauvé
Kara and I go flying. One second I’m soaring through the air, yelling; the next I’m sinking into an ocean of snow. The crystals cling to my exposed face, but I barely feel them because of my frostbite. Ignoring the lack of discomfort, I dig myself out of the snow.
The first thing I see is Kara’s face. It’s covered in half-melted flakes, but she otherwise appears unhurt.
“Are you all right?” I ask, just in case.
She nods.
“You?”
“I’m fine. Where’s Snow…”
My voice trails off when I spot the prehistoric bear lying a short distance from us. Completely encased in ice, his legs are now useless. But that doesn’t keep him from struggling. He writhes and wriggles, desperately trying to right himself. I fear the endeavour is doomed to fail, but Snowball refuses to give up. He keeps trying until one of the ice coffins starts to crack. Fissures appear by the dozens. Growing with each passing second, they replicate at an accelerated rate until the integrity of the cast is compromised, and it shatters. The others follow suit soon after. Before long, Snowball is back in full control of his body. Taking advantage of this, he leaps to his feet just as the ice foxes emerge from the snow.
Within seconds, we’re completely surrounded.
Memory 50
T he ice foxes converge toward us, teeth bared and hackles raised. I take a moment to study them. They resemble modern-day foxes in both size and shape, but their appearance varies quite drastically. Their frames are covered in long ice-like tufts of fur that glisten in the sunlight. Their grey eyes remain fixed on us, their bared teeth gnashing together as they advance. I honestly don’t know what scares me more; the razor-sharp fangs, or the wads of saliva that lie beyond them.
“Any ideas?” I ask, staring at the advancing predators.
Kara doesn’t answer. What’s the point? It’s not like there’s anything we can do to avoid our fate. I consider opening a portal, but there’s no guarantee my ring will work. Not to mention the fact that giving up now feels a lot like admitting defeat.
The foxes stalk toward us, teeth bared. They may be small, but they’re numerous. Not to mention the fact that their ability to spit ice makes them a threat not to be taken lightly. With each step they take, our odds of survival shrink. Soon, I’m forced to accept the inevitability of our fate. I’m debating whether or not to attempt opening a portal when something unexpected happens.
Snowball leaps between the foxes and us. He stands on his hind legs and roars. The growl is so powerful the foxes halt their advance. They stare at the prehistoric bear for a moment before remembering they have the advantage of numbers. Resuming their approach, they start yipping. I can’t tell if it’s a sign of hostility or temerity, but it doesn’t matter.
The ice foxes advance and attack Snowball with their freezing saliva. A thick layer of ice appears across his frame. It grows thicker and thicker until every centimetre of him vanishes. All that now remains is a Snowball-shaped ice statue, glistening in the sunlight.
I stare at it, stunned. It’s beautiful, in a horrific kind of way. The bear’s outline is visible through the ice, giving the statue an eerie quality that’s both beautiful and terrifying. But I forget all about it when Kara points beyond the frozen animal.
“Look,” she says.
It takes me a while to understand what she’s referring to.
The ice foxes. They’re retreating.
I don’t know why they chose to spare us, but I breathe a sigh of relief as the last few canids sink into the snow. The flakes undulate for a moment, then grow still.
It’s over.
“Why didn’t they attack us?” I ask.
Kara shrugs.
It makes no sense. Unless they weren’t after us. It’s possible Snowball was their target all along. But if that’s the case, why did they just leave him there, entombed in that icy coffin? Unless…
“Do you think he’s still alive?” I ask.
“I don’t know,” says Kara. She approaches the frozen animal and studies him. He doesn’t move. Nor does he breathe. He merely stands there, frozen.
“Is he dead?” I ask.
Kara nods. I can tell she’s sad by her expression, yet she doesn’t shed a single tear. Come to think of it, I don’t recall ever seeing her cry. Not that it matters. She’s still the most selfless person I have ever known.
We stare at Snowball for a while before the sight of his frozen frame reminds me the day will soon come to an end. If we fail to reach the human colony before nightfall, there’s little doubt in my mind we will share our furry companion’s fate.
“We should go,” I say.
Kara nods and, turning away from the ice statue, focuses on the nearby mountain. According to Hermit, the free humans live at its summit. Locating their settlement will most likely take the remainder of the day, but we should reach it before the sun sets and the night chill sets in.
We head off, trekking through the fluffy snow. Each step is a struggle, and we advance at a snail’s pace, but we keep going, well aware that any delay will lead to our demise. At first, I keep an eye out for signs of ice foxes, but it soon becomes evident we’re of no interest to them. Their target was Snowball, and now that he’s been defeated, my friend and I are no longer a threat.
It takes well over an hour, but we eventually reach the base of the mountain. High above us stand two snowy peaks. Suspended between them is Nibiru. Bright red, it lights up the entire sky, giving the illusion the sun is permanently setting. It’s both beautiful and ominous. Far beneath the red planet, perfectly centred between the two peaks, stands an animal crossing. Hard-packed, the passage cuts straight through the valley formed by the two peaks and links the summit to the base. Following it should allow us to reach the human colony before the sun sets.
We start climbing. The hard-packed nature of the path keeps us from sinking into the snow, but the steep angle ensures it’s a slow climb. Each step is a challenge as one wrong move is all it would take to send us skidding down the hill. While undoubtedly fun, the prospect of having to start the climb all over again keeps me from attempting the slide.
The ascent takes forever. We have a few close calls, but it’s not until we reach the mid-point that I slip and lose my balance. For a brief moment, I fear all of my hard work will be undone by one stupid mistake, but Kara rushes to my rescue before I completely lose my footing.
“Thanks,” I mutter once my balance has been restored.
“You’re welcome.”
We continue the climb. A few minutes later, Kara stumbles, but I catch her before she collapses. Not long after, the hill levels out and we’re able to take our first break. I never thought sitting on a bed of frozen water crystals could feel so good. But my good mood evaporates when Kara points out the cliff that stands between us and the second half of the ascent. Luckily, the overhang is small and scaling it is relatively easy. The two others we encounter are equally simple to overcome. Still, my legs feel like Jell-O by the time the crest of the mountain comes into view. Not to mention the fact that the elevated altitude makes the mere act of breathing difficult.
“We’re almost there,” says Kara. Unlike me, she doesn’t appear to be suffering from the thinner air.
We keep going, moving closer to the summit with each step. We’re within throwing distance of it when the ground starts shaking. Barely noticeable at first, the tremors intensify until the mere act of standing becomes a struggle. I fight it for as long as I can, but my legs eventually give out. For a brief moment, I fear all of my hard work will be undone, but now that we’re near the summit, the angle of the path has diminished, and I manage to catch myself before I slide down the hill.
“What’s happening?” I ask as I scramble to my feet.
Kara shrugs. Her lips move, but the powerful thundering that accompanies the tremors keeps me from hearing her words. Not that it matters, because whatever is responsible for the convulsing snow is almost upon us. I focus on the crest of the hill
just as they appear.
Rokks. Hundreds upon hundreds of rokks.
They gallop toward us like water gushing from a fractured dam. The sight is so breathtaking I can’t help staring in awe, but the precariousness of our situation can’t be denied for long.
“WE HAVE TO HIDE!” yells Kara. I can barely hear her over the thundering of hooves, but I don’t let that stop me. I scan our surroundings in search of a hiding place, but the edges of the path are lined with steep walls of fluffy snow. Scaling them is impossible, and trying will only waste time.
That leaves only one option.
“RUN!”
Memory 51
T he snow convulses beneath our feet as we fly down the mountainside. Every so often I lose my footing, but I always manage to regain my balance. Beside me, Kara advances with the grace of an antelope bounding across the savannah. She remains focused on the road ahead, ignoring the stampede of woolly rhinos that moves toward us. I wish I could be so brave, but I can’t resist the urge to glance over my shoulder for more than a few seconds.
I immediately regret it. The herd of wild rokks is gaining on us. The thundering of their hooves grows louder. The groaning of the trampled snow increases. The entire mountain shudders as hundreds of the furry animals gallop down its slope.
I focus on the road ahead. Now that we’re travelling down the hill, each step propels us a great distance. This keeps ahead of the stampede—for now—but it also makes it hard to remain upright. More than once I lose my footing and crash to the ground. But each time I do, Kara is right there to help me up.
We race along the packed path until we reach one of the miniature cliffs we encountered during our journey up the mountain. Unable to halt our advance, we go flying off its edge. The landing is jarring and causes our legs to fold beneath us. The next thing we know, we’re flat on our butts.
It takes me a moment to get my bearings.
“Hurry,” urges Kara. She yanks me to my feet, and the frenzied escape resumes.
“Thanks,” I say as we fly down the hill. This time, I don’t have to look back to know the rokks are nearly upon us. The thundering of their hooves and the shuddering of the snow is all I need to know our lives may well be coming to an end.
We keep going for a while before I lose my footing. Kara tries to grab me but trips. Moments later, we’re sliding down the hill. The bad news is that controlling our descent is no longer possible. The good news is that we’re now travelling at a far greater speed than we were before.
The uncontrolled slide allows us to pull ahead of the herd. I think. Truth be told, the wind whips at my face with such intensity tears have filled my eyes, and the world is now a blur of colours. And it remains that way until the weightlessness of flight grabs hold of me.
We’ve reached the second cliff. I brace myself for the landing, but the collision is so jarring I momentarily lose touch with reality. I remain in this confused state for a while before the world comes back into focus. Blinking away the tears that fill my eyes, I focus on the person standing before me.
It’s Kara. She’s yelling, but the thundering of rokk hooves keeps me from understanding. She grabs my hands and pulls me to my feet. Now that I’m upright, I can see the rokks. They fly toward us, now so close they seem to fill my entire field of vision.
“COME ON!” yells Kara. She bursts forward with the strength of a woman three times her size and drags me forward.
“WE’RE GOING THE WRONG WAY!” I yell, but she doesn’t hear me.
We continue our frenzied race up the hill, each step taking us closer to our doom. For a brief moment, I fear Kara has gone mad, but then I see it. It stands before us, glorious.
The cliff.
It stands less than a dozen metres away. Slightly taller than me, the wall of ice and snow is our only source of hope. If we can reach it before the rokks, we can use it as protection.
I pump my legs for all they’ve got, and we reach the safety of the overhang with less than a second to spare. The rokks reach the cliff moments after we do and erupt from it like buckshot from a musket. They fly through the air for a moment, then land safely on the packed snow that stands at its base and continue their frenzied race.
It takes a while, but my racing heart eventually slows. Leaning against the cliff, I let myself slide to the ground and watch as hundreds of rokks fly past us. The sight of so many beasts fills me with an unparalleled sense of awe. I have seen thousands of humans gathered in one place, but never have I witnessed so many animals moving as one. The fact that they’re wild beasts only makes it more impressive.
We sit in silence, watching as the rokks fly past us. Isolated from the sun’s rays, we remain trapped in near total darkness. At first, the adrenaline keeps me from enjoying the moment of respite, but as the seconds turn into minutes, my muscles begin to loosen, and the exhaustion slowly lifts from my body. By the time the final rokk soars past us, I’m in a state of complete relaxation.
Now that our surroundings have reappeared, we have a clear view of the path that lies before us. The once deserted passage is now jam-packed with rokks, their brown fur forming a streak across the vast expanse of white. Uninterrupted, it travels all the way to the very base of the mountain and far beyond. It cuts straight across the snowy desert, past the spot where Kara and I were forced to abandon Snowball.
It takes a while, but the thundering eventually vanishes. Strangely, the shuddering persists. At first, I think the tremors are an aftershock of the stampede, but it soon becomes clear that’s not the case.
The mountainside shakes with increased vigour. I focus on the rokks once more, but they’re way too far for the stamping of their hooves to reach us. Perhaps another herd has crested the mountain and is now heading toward us. Or maybe—
“What is that?” asks Kara.
I look at my friend and realize she’s standing. Facing the mountain, she stares at something that lies beyond the cliff. I can’t see what it is, but I can tell by her expression it’s not good.
“What’s wrong?” I ask as I stand. What I find is so horrifying I can’t bring myself to answer my friend’s question.
“Oh crap,” I mutter.
The stampede did more than force us downhill. It destabilized the snow, causing it to detach from the mountainside. It rushes toward us, growing in both size and speed.
“What is it?” repeats Kara.
I sigh.
“That,” I say, “is an avalanche.”
Memory 52
D ammit!” I mutter as the snow grows closer. It’s still far away, but it gains speed with each passing second. Soon, it will crush us like bugs.
“Can we outrun it?” asks Kara.
I shake my head. “We’ll never make it.”
“We have to do something.”
“What?” I ask. Running would only delay the inevitable. Opening a portal would take too much time. Not to mention the fact that my ring may well still be frozen. But most important of all is the fact that we must make up for our past mistake. Reaching the human colony and convincing them to help is the only way to rescue the enslaved humans. As an added bonus, we will get to save Jonn. But none of that will happen unless we find a way to survive the avalanche.
There’s but one solution. We duck behind the overhang just as the snow reaches us. I grab Kara and hug her tight as billions of snowflakes fly over our heads. At first, the snow’s momentum carries it safely past, but as the avalanche begins to slow, gravity grabs hold of it and sends it crashing down upon us.
Trapped in total darkness, I wait for the end, but it never comes. We’re pummeled with snow, and our tiny cavern grows increasingly small, but the overhang protects us from the brunt of the avalanche. After what feels like ages, the snow stops falling, and everything grows still.
I hesitate for a moment before feeling around. The cliff wall remains untainted by the avalanche, but the open space that once stood beyond it is now packed with snow. A small cocoon has formed around us, protectin
g us from the weight of the snow.
We’re alive, but we’re trapped.
Memory 53
W e’re trapped. Snow stands all around us, threatening to collapse at any moment. One wrong move, one subtle shift, and we will be crushed. But what other option do we have? How are we supposed to dig ourselves out of this mess if we don’t move? It’s not like we can just sit here and wait to be rescued.
Panic rises within me. I know it’s only a matter of time before it overwhelms me, so I distract myself by focusing on Kara.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“I’m fine,” she says. Her voice sounds muffled. “You?”
“Yeah.”
Silence settles upon us. It persists for a while before the raspy sound of my breathing catches my attention. Hearing it reminds me our air supply is limited. I try to slow my breathing, but that only makes things worse. Desperate for a distraction, I go through our options.
Digging our way out seems like the only solution, but there’s no telling whether we will reach the surface before our air supply runs out. Opening a portal would be the simplest way to escape, but there’s no way of knowing if my ring will work. The last time I tried opening a portal, the triangles refused to budge. I guess it doesn’t really matter because the restrictive nature of our surroundings makes creating a portal impossible. That leaves only one viable option.