Glass Winter | Chapter XVII

“Your food’s gone cold. You plan on finishing it?” Asked Eron.

There was a plate of red salmon with yellow and black crustose lichen on an outcrop of snow by the far wall, along with a drinking tusk.

“Where…,” repeated Sowne, “have you been?”

“A man thinks and speaks worse on empty stomach.” Said Eron.

Sowne didn’t care. Eron tasted the drink then picked at the fish’s bones. The chief watched him eat.

“I apologise, of course,” said Eron between bites, “I should have come to you first. But darker things have made their move against the commune.”

Aurora knew what it meant, and for no reason at all she glanced over both her shoulders, at the night rising tall above the wall. The commune seemed to be darker, if such a thing was possible.

“What do you mean, man? Demons?” Said Sowne, his voice, already grave, became graver still.

“Aye, the same.”

“The very ones you claimed we’d deal with should they come?”

“They very ones I dealt with.” Eron pried a bone from his teeth and flicked it across the table, “Those responsible for what happened to that old one, Quin.”

No. No that can’t be right.

“That is quite the accusation, Eron.” Sowne rose to his feet, “And how convenient it was that you were not around when Quin’s body was discovered, along with his murder weapon.”

“So you believe it’s murder?”

“No one knows what to believe. Some say he took his own life. It would not be the first time one of our own has done this, as I am sure you know.”

“But the tool that was the cause of his death was found? What was it, pray tell?”

Sowne hesitated. He seemed to be looking at Aurora. She fell to the ground, her frantic breath misting the snow, making it sparkle. On the other side of the shelter’s wall, she heard a crunch, and the sound of receding footsteps.

“He was killed by this.” Sowne’s muffled voice said.

Aurora looked through the hole, her heart still racing, and saw a chunk of ice that the chief had placed by the salmon.

“Now tell me,” Eron picked up the ice and broke it with his teeth, “would a demon, like the kind we have seen, not know how to use this? The ones on the sea looked almost human, and they don’t have access to weapons like you or I.”

“A ‘demon’. Your absence has turned you into a primary suspect, Eron.”

“What for? I had no motive to kill the man.”

“Do not take me for a fool. Do you not think I understand the urgency of our mission to get back home? Do you really believe you have the power to frighten us into following you north to your hills by claiming that there’s a demon running around that nobody but Drummond and you have seen? Yes, he is under suspicion as well.”

“You presume too much. Besides, I understood that you wanted Quin dead the moment he stepped into the commune.”

“Under the right circumstances and under my directive. Do you not understand how fragile our sanity has become? Without good reason drastic actions cannot be taken.”

“Yes. Where we currently stand is dire.”

Aurora’s stomach turned when Eron picked the eyes from the fish, its head and tail untouched compared to the visible bones between, and pushed the stone plate away.

“You were sending all of your scouts away.” Said Eron, “All ten on the commune’s most important mission. Now, say that Drummond and I were responsible for Quin’s murder, would you have seized us and sent eight men instead?”

“Don’t assume what I would or wouldn’t have done—”

“The people are afraid, Sowne.” Eron popped an eye into his mouth, “They have good reason to be. I wouldn’t deny it. Its consequences are already manifesting, and I’m already dealing with them.”

“You and Drummond alone? Nobody else can testify what really happened to Quin?”

“Nobody’s testified yet, I presume?”

Silence. Sowne seemed to be seething with restraint.

“No. They have not.”

Eron nodded, “Well, there you have it.”

He squeezed the juices of the second eye into his mouth, ate what remained, then brushed his hands together clean.

“The survival of this commune hinges on trust, Sowne. You may not approve of me, nor I of you, but while the facts are unknown, we must rely on each other. Once the real threats come, we need to be ready to move.”

“That much I cannot dispute.”

But the chief’s eyes seemed to tell a different story. What it was Aurora could not say.

All of this is too simple, too easy. Could Eron be telling the truth?

No, he couldn’t be.

“And how did these ‘darker things’, which you pursued, look like?” Asked Sowne.

“Almost human, as I have said. Save for their fangs, one of which I gifted to the boys at the wall. Ask Little Malcolm.”

Was that what it was?

“The masons,” Sowne chuckled, “they were the ones sheltering you these past few days?”

“I can shelter myself out there, as I have proven. No, the masons let me in after I had chased the beast outside. They are very adamant, Little Malcolm and his group. They understand the threat better than anyone.”

How did he hunt down a demon while protecting himself from the storm?

Aurora did not know much about the scouts and their ways. She wanted to assume that this man, as frightening as he was, was noble and true. It would make the tragedy of Quin’s death almost bearable, even if it was the work of something darker.

Sowne shook his head, “Who were you? In your former life?”

Eron met the other’s gaze and swigged what remained of the drink, “Someone I’ll gladly return to. Whatever were the circumstances that killed me, they could not have been worse than where we are now.”

Aurora was yanked away from the wall by her shoulder.

“Now just what do you think you’re doing?”

It was Bratislav, his narrow face lined with suspicion. Aurora hadn’t even heard his footsteps, which were now widely spaced around one side of the shelter. He had been running.

“I’m… I was…”

Sowne emerged, sword in hand, looking between Aurora and Bratislav.

“The girl was listening.” Said the runner.

Sowne scanned the footfalls in the snow, “What is it?”

“She was listening. Aurora, isn’t it—?”

“Never mind that. Later.” The chief glared at her, before grabbing Bratislav’s arm, “You have something to share, don’t you?”

“As a matter of fact. Someone’s fallen into the lake at the fishing grounds.”

Sowne sheathed the sword in a belt of woven fur and made for the grounds in question. Bratislav gave Aurora one last look of mistrust before taking off as well. She went around the other side of the shelter before Eron had a chance to notice her and followed the two men.

Demons in the commune and an accident at the fishing grounds. That’s what it must be, an accident.

Aurora didn’t want to believe in anything worse. And yet, whatever was worse would have been responsible for Quin’s death. What if it’s…

Palina.

Aurora ran faster, so fast she could barely keep up, before stumbling onto the lake shore. She searched its faces for pale hair and skin. Most of the people were gathered on the far side of the grounds. Her heart beat louder the longer she looked.

Please, no. I can’t lose her too.

“Anglers!”

They all looked up when Sowne had shouted, the ashen Palina among them. Aurora’s breath returned.

Thank you, Lord. Bless you.

“Eron.” Tematyr, the giant, had noticed the scout and started approaching him in long, quick strides, “You’re back.”

“Don’t mind me yet. Your anglers are what’s important.”

“Funny how you’re the subject of issue whenever death is concerned, isn’t it?”

Eron’s placed his hand on the hilt of his falchion, “Perhaps you’d do best to steer clear of me, then.”

Sowne stepped between the men, “While we commend your bravado, Tem, Eron has been in my quarters while your workers were taking their plunge—”

“Would you speak of them with a little respect?”

“Of course. What efforts have been made to rescue them?”

“None yet. The waters run deep and cold. And…”

Sowne pried with a look, “And?”

“It seemed like… though I couldn’t be sure… like they fell in of their own will.”

“Now why would they do such a foolish thing? You’re saying you saw them jump in, is that it?”

Tematyr, despite his towering stature, seemed to be faltering. Some of the fishermen, including Palina, who were lowering lines through the ice in an attempt to rescue the victims, took note of the giant’s silence.

“I would not say that they jumped—”

“Then don’t waste our time with your stories.” Sowne turned to address the other fishermen, “Have we more witnesses as to what happened?”

“It was Jeyne and Fargor that fell in.” Said Tematyr in a hushed voice, as a woman named Ruth approached the chief.

Apprehension washed over Sowne’s face as he glanced at Eron. The weathered scout said nothing, but even he, Aurora noticed, was trying to conceal his surprise.

I can’t remember what Jeyne and Fargor even looked like. Do they concern Sowne and Eron that much?

“Yes, chief.” Said Ruth, an older woman with a pinched face and a bold voice, “Some of us thought we’d sighted another seal where a part of the ice was breaking. The couple made for the ice, and they fell through.”

“So, they were doing their job and experienced an unfortunate accident.” Sowne tilted his head, “Not a cause for worry, Tem. But you are trying to get them out?”

“However we can.” Said Ruth, “It’s been long enough now for them to have drowned, but not long enough to not be rescued and revived.”

Eron’s falchion caught the light of a brazier and glinted red.

“Why is he here?” Reiterated the giant, “He’s one of your lead scouts, is he not? Did his men decide to leave him behind?”

“Spare us.” Said Eron.

“We need new anglers now,” Sowne slapped his back, “Have at the fishes. And while you’re at it you and the big one can use your muscles to hoist up what’s left of the couple from the lake bottom.”

“There’s a larger issue to address, now.” Eron stepped in front of him before he could walk away.

Sowne seemed ready to kill Eron then and there, boring his head with his eyes alone. After a few moments, however, he silently understood something.

“The men will keep at it until they find them.” Said the chief, “Tematyr, would you accompany Eron and I, and bring something sharp?”

Tem quietly indicated to the tuuq on his back, a pointy ice chisel. As him and the two men walked away the anglers got back to work, and Palina rushed over to Aurora.

“What are you doing here? Why aren’t you with the sewists?”

“I heard about what happened—”

“Is everything alright?”

“Yes, I’m fine.”

Palina hugged the girl with weak arms and ragged, anxious breaths.

“I’m fine, really. I’m safe on solid ground, aren’t I?”

“Don’t joke about that, Aurora.”

“Sorry.”

She looked around for Sowne and the other two but they had already left.

If what Eron said is true, if whatever happened to Jeyne and Fargor is really more terrible than it seems…

She could tell Palina about the conversation she had eavesdropped on, but it would make her more troubled than she already was. And Aurora didn’t want to believe it. She didn’t want to believe that the temporary sanctuary they had built for themselves within the commune was no longer safe.

~~~~~

They were four days into their rations, which consisted of dried, pressed kidney lichen and the legs of frozen hermit crab. The men would thaw the shell by the heat of Sevt’s lamp, then pick out the tender meat inside. In the light of the staff, the cavern yawned large and fanged, its tapering minerals winking with shards of deep blue.

The place looked promising, Gar Darron thought. On all sides, save for the sudden drop behind them, the ground sloped up to walls pitted with gaping passages, slim passages, with crevices and alcoves. Some would lead them nowhere, to rocks that closed in or stopped their climb altogether. But there would be those that rose ever higher, with the mark of the old water that had spent thousands of years cutting through the mountain.

Yes, the mountain was tall and vast. But stone does not bear water. Somewhere, they would find the source, perhaps one of the many that created these caverns. They need only find one.

“How will we be sure?” Asked Drummond as he sucked the remains of his crab from inside its leg.

“These caves are limestone.” said Dhruv, slamming the hilt of his dagger onto the seat beneath him and raising the piece that broke off, “That’s why we’re surrounded by all these teeth, above and beneath us. When those above us start to dwindle, we’ll know that we’re reaching the source.”

“Easier said.” the light of the flame danced in Sinner’s white eye, “There’s no telling how long it will take for us to pick through the cave wall once we reach a desired spot. I’d wager the mountain outside is made from tougher stone than the floor we walk.”

“As long as it takes, we’ll break through the wall.” Gar Darron said, eyeing every man seated around the light, “If it means we ration…”

“We ration the rations…,” muttered Sinner.

Jerard chuckled.

“If it means we save the food,” Gar Darron went on, “we save it. If it means we descend to the sea and climb back to the commune for further resources, we descend.”

“Sinner’s not disputing the mission’s importance,” said Drummond, “he’s being pragmatic.”

“Is that not what we’ve been doing?” Gar Darron asked.

“It is. And it isn’t. Sowne once listened to Eron, to the rest of us. Then he up and changed his mind. Any of us would be fools to deny the impossibility of the task we’ve now been assigned. It just helps to voice it, even if nothing can be done to avoid it.”

Gar Darron sighed, watching the fire.

I’m surrounded by cravens and fools.

What good was hope in hopeless times? These were the questions they posed him. Faithless questions that bore no reward for their work.

And then there were those that stayed quiet. Jerard, Holland, and Renoir. Did they agree with their comrades, or were they afraid to speak their mind? Or worse yet, too proud, assuming that all was going to plan?

When the expedition began, the flame in the lamp burned as bright as the sun. Gar Darron, like many, knew that darkness was not absolute, that like many things in this world it had its equal, the fiery husband of the day to the cool wife of the night. The sun and the moon.

He had only one memory from his days before the frozen cold. Of the sweltering heat under a beating ball of fire, suspended in a cerulean sky, of his sweat staining the bricks of the manse he was building. Gar Darron would have joined the masons in their commune, if he hadn’t been so skilled with a trowel and a hammer, tools never meant for battle, and if he hadn’t tracked the culprits that had attacked him and his fellows back to their own people, using only the earth and their clothes.

They had dyed their jackets black and trimmed them with purple. Not too many lands had purple.

What happened next, he could not say. No one had ordered him to enact vengeance or justice, for he had been alone, tracking in the very clothes he had worn when building that wealthy estate. Too many of the workers had died. Too many. Perhaps, he had thought that these others, and the people they belonged to, should suffer the same fate.

Gar Darron would often try to recall the rest through dreams, as he did now after the scouts had eaten their meals and laid their heads to rest. He would only see darkness, with the odd glass castle shimmering in the distance.

Like on the surface, none of them could say for how long they slept. When their strength was returned, they resumed the climb, choosing a stepped sequence of caverns for its dramatic ascension, for the speed it promised that day.

Now the day is within my grasp.

Gar Darron thought as he led the party upward. There was a chance at seeing the sun again now that he held it in his hands, the lantern staff burning bright. There was good to be done, and he would not fail. He could not fail, even if he tried. That much he knew.

And yet, I can feel my age catching up with me.

The mute and Drummond had overtaken him, and the men of his age or older, Reyansh and Holland, were lagging somewhere at the tail of the others behind Gar Darron. The stepped caverns once had eddying currents, now pocked coarse from the dripping limestone ceiling. Brittle clusters yet to form pillars broke under his feet, and some of the taller ones that he leaned on snapped in an instant.

“Careful here,” Gar Darron called to the company behind him, “the footing is treacherous.”

They had no need of the rope, not until the third elevation. The wall of the fourth step, with its petrified grooves, sloped at a near vertical incline. Drummond and the mute were catching their breath as they waited for the others. Gar Darron lodged his staff in a cleft in the floor and surveyed the rock face.

Not that I would know much about climbing. That part’s reserved for Renoir.

The lad soon crested the third step and, seeing what waited ahead, began to unpack his hammer and pitons. Dhruv followed after him.

Then they were cast into darkness, the lamp gone out. Gar Darron heard the staff clatter across the floor.

“Who touched the light?”

The men called out to each other, their boots shifting across the stone floor.

“All of you stop moving.”

Gar Darron searched for silhouettes, for slivers of light. Nothing.

“Renoir, Dhruv… Drummond and the mute. Look for the staff using your hands and feet. The last thing we need is for one of you tumble off this step.”

Is it happening?

The spirits. No, their party was too high up from the sea. They had not heard or seen anything besides each other the last few days.

Gar Darron heard the breathing of one of the men nearing him.

“Careful. We’re going to bump heads.”

The man did not stop, his breath grew closer. It was soon cut short, as if by surprise. The man spoke.

“Sinew—”

The voice was cut short with a splatter.

Gar Darron unsheathed his dirk and pressed his back against the cave wall.

“ENEMIES!!” He bellowed, hearing responses from below followed by the clamber of hands and feet.

Gar Darron held his knife out at arm’s length while attempting to shift along the wall; he had given himself away. He listened for movement, real and incorporeal; feet or wisps, the cleaning of a weapon or the clacking of claws. There was nothing, save for the oaths of his comrades ascending the cavern.

Why ‘sinew’…? Why was that your final word?

Soon enough he knew. A familiar clatter preceded the sting of daylight, as the hairless, nameless mute lifted Sevt’s staff with one hand while holding a dirk in the other. His furs were bloodied.

Drummond lay twitching his final ounces of life away, before settling, arched in an impossible crane across the jagged floor beneath him. The mute did not even act guilty.

Eron had called your build sinuous once. But you’re certainly more than meets the eye.

“You bastard.” Gar Darron came at the man.

He pulled at the scruff of the killer, who hardly resisted, indicating instead to the body before them. To the body’s grip, still holding, however loosely, a dirk of its own.

The rest of the men crested the step. Holland followed Sinew’s finger to Drummond’s hand, and picked up the dagger.

“What in God’s name happened here, Gar Darron?”

“Hard to say,” he turned back to the mute, who was still pointing to the dirk, “very convenient for a man who cannot speak.”

“Unlucky bastard,” Sinner stood over the corpse, watching the blood pump from its neck, “‘Well enough’ he said. ‘Mind sharper than the blade’ he said. For all the good it’s done him.”

“What possessed you, man?” Holland moved to Gar Darron’s side, looking over the mute’s bloodied clothes, “What could have possibly made you commit such an act?”

Yes. What did possess him?

Gar Darron released the mute and took a step back. He studied the eyes for any remnants of a soul.

“Hold him down.”

Jerard and Renoir stepped forward and keeled the mute over with little resistance. Gar Darron asked for Reyansh’s axe, then used it to pull back the furs at Sinew’s neck, searching for any marks or bruises. Inspecting his bald head was easy enough, and removing his gloves only revealed pale, untarnished skin.

“Perhaps the infection hasn’t made itself known yet,” said Reyansh as he took back his axe and sheathed it in the rope around his waist, “Which means our true enemy is close at hand.”

“Your company didn’t see or hear anything down below?” Gar Darron asked.

“How could we? Place was as dark as pitch when your light went out. The only movements we heard were from each other, or so we’d assume.”

“Did either of you see who knocked over the staff?”

Renoir and Dhruv denied seeing anything. The mute denied it too.

“Is it possible,” asked Holland, “that he acted in self-defence? Against Drummond?”

Why would the long-hair attack him?

“Is this true, Sinew?”

The mute seemed confused at first, then he shook his head, indicating to Gar Darron instead.

“May we release him before you question him further? He’s not exactly struggling.” Said Jerard.

“I wouldn’t.” Reyansh placed a hand on the head of his axe.

“I would not either.” Gar Darron studied the mute’s eyes again, which had the colour of pale ice. They were human.

And yet, he did not know if he could recognise a demon. Cold brushed down his neck, and he turned to see the cause of it. There was nobody close behind him, only Drummond’s lifeless body, cold on the floor. Gar Darron’s thoughts returned to the sea, to the old waters that rested now far beneath them. He recalled the things that had emerged from them.

“We cannot stay here,” said Gar Darron, “not with the mute, nor with Drummond dead.”

“Are you afraid?” Reyansh’s mouth did not leer, but his eyes did.

“No. I’m being pragmatic.”

“We don’t have time to spare.” Said Renoir.

Everyone turned to look at the man, who now stood silent and stoic, eyeing them all.

I had begun to wonder if we had two mutes in our party. Thankfully not.

“We’ve been pragmatic enough by coming down here,” Renoir went on, “instead of braving the storm. But if this is the work of a demon then we’re out of time.”

“The lad’s right.” nodded Reyansh, “What’ll Sowne do to the mute if we return? Stow him away with the mushers, with Quin? We’ve had enough of the threat of demons. I say we gut the mute now and go on with the mission.”

“We don’t know what happened.” Gar Darron looked at them all, “And you’d be setting the commune against itself. Things were simpler when Mal was in charge, but even with his demotion Sowne knows not to lay a hand on Quin, or Tear, or Yowl. He tried it once and it nearly tore us all apart. Do we need more cause by killing the mute?”

“We do not. And Sowne is not expecting this mission to fail.” Holland scratched his beard, “But if there are darker deeds at work, then all our lives are forfeit. He would be lucky if any of us returned. We cannot stay here, no, we cannot. Furthermore, the mute may yet give a testimony on what happened, however simple it may be. One that the chief will want to hear.”

He may yet.

Gar Darron raised his staff off the ground, watching its light wash over Sinew’s face, over the men holding him, over the body on the floor.

“Drummond cannot be brought with us. If we descend quickly, we may have a chance of reaching the commune in two days’ time. I’ll not have us wait around for the spirits to claim him. His soul may already be with them.”