Fatemarked Origins (The Fatemarked Epic Book 4)

by David Estes

  Impossible.

  It was warm.

  “The hell?” Heinrich muttered.

  “What is it, Hein?” Ousted called. “Did your hand freeze off and float away?”

  “I—” There was no other way to explain it. “The water is warm.”

  “Come again? Did you say the water is warm? I think you’ve gone numb in the brain, Cap’n.”

  He shook his head. His brain did feel numb, but not from the cold. From this incredible discovery. “Let’s go a little further,” he called. “And then I’m going swimming.”

  Heinrich didn’t want to ruin the moment for his men. Let them experience it for themselves, he thought. And then he started peeling off his clothes.

  There were murmurs of confusion, and several men echoed Ousted’s opinion on how the captain’s brain must have been numbed by the cold, but Heinrich ignored them. He also ignored the bite of the cold as it nipped at his pale skin, which was so dry and chafed that it was rough and peeling. He didn’t care about any of that. All he cared about was stumbling out of his boots, bullying his way out of his trousers, his under-trousers, and his under-under-trousers, and then charging for the water’s edge, which was now completely free of ice, even the slushy kind.

  With a boyish whoop! he leapt free of the shoreline, curling his arms under his bent legs until he resembled a large, fleshy ball.

  Spalooosh!

  The warm water rushed around him and he breathed hard out of his nose, bubbles burbling toward the surface. He kept his eyes open, and was shocked at the clarity. Looking through the warm blue water was as easy as gazing through a just-cleaned pane of glass. Brilliant green, purple, and red plants grew up from the bottom, their long tendrils almost reaching all the way to the surface. Hundreds—no, thousands—of fish moved in schools, feeding off the plants. Heinrich spotted several of the large spotted ones they’d been eating for the last fortnight.

  Out of breath, Heinrich bobbed back to the surface, a smile creasing his face as he burst into the cold air. On the shore, several of his men were already ridding themselves of their clothes, while others were tentatively dipping fingers in the water while wearing expressions of wonder and delight.

  One by one, they joined him in the water, laughing and splashing each other and dunking each other’s heads. Heinrich felt younger than he’d felt in decades. More alive, too. He ducked underwater again and again, watching the fish play, trying to count the different species. They would have to compare notes later and create a catalogue, complete with drawings and approximate measurements.

  He popped up once more to find Ousted bobbing beside him. “I discovered the source,” he said.

  “Source of what?”

  “The heat. Follow me.”

  Ousted dove beneath the surface, and Heinrich followed, kicking his legs like a frog. Ousted swam deeper and deeper, past flora and sea life, until they reached the bottom of the lake. An odd-shaped rock formation rose up from the lakebed, formed like a cone, but lumpy along its edges. At the top of the cone was a spout of sorts, and from the spout arose an endless stream of bubbles.

  Heinrich was running out of breath, but Ousted gestured for him to place his hand above the bubbles, in a position that was still well short of the spout. He did, and was shocked to find not warm water, but hot water. Not boiling, but as he moved his hand lower, the water got even hotter. He suspected that just above the spout the water would scald him.

  He pointed upward and Ousted nodded and together they kicked back to the surface. By the time Heinrich emerged, his lungs were burning and he was forced to gasp at the air for several minutes before he was able to speak.

  They told the rest of the men what they had discovered: the source of the warm water.

  Camped on the shore that night, the men were happy. It had been a strange, magical day, the likes of which they might never experience again.

  Heinrich wiped fish juice off his chin. “We could build a colony here,” he said. “Wait for a lull in the storms and march a thousand hardy men, women and children across the ice.”

  “They’ll think we’re taking them to hell,” Ousted said.

  “And then we’ll surprise them with paradise!” another man, Klein, said. Roars of laughter rolled across camp. Men ate. Men joked. Men laughed.

  They went to sleep happy, their bellies full, and feeling warmer than they had in days, as if the warm waters of the Not-So-Frozen Lake had melted the ice in their bones.

  Heinrich awoke the next morning to shouts.

  “Klein’s missing,” Ousted explained, when Heinrich joined several early-rising men in the center of camp. The sky was still murky, the sun having not yet cleared the horizon. One by one, groggy men were emerging from their tents, aroused by the commotion.

  “Kleiner, you buffoon, where in frozen hell are you?” a man named Josun shouted, scanning the lapping waters of the lake. Both Josun and Klein were original members of Heinrich’s exploration company, even before the king had appointed them to his service. They were also best friends and tentmates.

  “Jos,” Heinrich said. “When’s the last time you saw him?” There was no reason to panic, not yet. All of the men in the company were the curious sort—Klein might’ve just wandered off to inspect something he’d seen from afar.

  “You know him,” Jos said, approaching. Though his gray eyes were focused, the concern was evident in the lines etched in his brow. “He don’t sleep much. So at the arsecrack of dawn he decides to go for a swim. I roll over and give him a kick out the door, because I don’t care what he does so long as he lets me sleep.”

  “He could’ve finished his swim and gone for a walk,” Heinrich suggested.

  Josun held up an armful of clothes that Heinrich hadn’t noticed. “Then he’s doing it buck naked, freezing his manhood off.”

  A wave of fear rolled through Heinrich, but he swallowed it down—it was still too early to jump to conclusions. “He’s a strong swimmer. He might’ve attempted to cross the lake.”

  “’Tis possible,” Ousted agreed. “He likes to be first to do such things.”

  Jos said, “I’ve been watching the water for a while. Haven’t seen so much as a splash. He’d have to come up for air sometime. And if he were swimming I’d see him for sure.”

  “Get something to eat,” Heinrich said. “We’ll continue the search.”

  “Not hungry. I’ll search with you.”

  Heinrich wouldn’t stop the man from searching for his best friend. Plus, the more eyes and ears the better. He quickly organized the men into four groups of nine, with the three remaining men assigned to hold camp and prepare breakfast in case Klein returned on his own. One group headed north along the shoreline, one south, the third inland, and the fourth, which was comprised of the strongest swimmers, shucked their clothes and set out across the water. There were two rules for this search: First, never go off alone; and second, return to camp before the sun reached its peak.

  Heinrich, who felt as comfortable as any of his men in the water, swam out with his group of eight, moving slowly, ducking his head beneath the surface and peering through the water, looking for movement. Each time he popped up for air, he scanned the waterline all the way to the far shore, hoping to spy a splash.

  The water was as warm as the day before, but Heinrich couldn’t enjoy it, not when one of his men were missing, possibly injured or worse.

  Instead, he focused on the task at hand. As the sun crested the horizon and spilled light across the lake, visibility became better, and the men were able to see all the way to the bottom. Myriad fish swarmed the bright plants, nibbling their breakfast from the marine foliage.

  They searched for hours, until the sun was approaching its apex, until Heinrich’s fingers and toes were wrinkled like grapes left to dry in the sun.

  But still there was no sign of their lost comrade.

  Treading water, Heinrich looked back to shore, which was now a fair distance away. If he traced the rocky edge north and
south, he could just make out the dark outlines of the second and third companies of searchers. Based on their body language and the fact that they were slowly moving back toward camp, he was certain they hadn’t had any more luck.

  He couldn’t see the fourth and final group, who’d moved inland and out of sight amongst the snowdrifts.

  He sighed, beginning to lose hope.

  His group of swimmers was spreading out more now, pairing up and casting a wider net.

  “Over here!” someone shouted, causing Heinrich’s heart to feel as if it had leapt out of his chest.

  He quickly located the source of the shout. Brisby, one of the youngest explorers, waved his arms over his head in the water. Heinrich and the rest of his men swam toward him.

  “Found this stuck on one of the long purple plants,” Brisby said as they approached. A waterlogged sock hung from his pale fingers.

  “Damnation,” Heinrich said. Other voices echoed his response. Every man in the company knew this sock, because Klein rarely took it off. His ‘lucky sock’ he called it, a hideous article of clothing originally striped red and white but which was now so stained it appeared brown and gray. As they often did, the men gave Klein a good ribbing the day before when he’d refused to leave the sock on shore, instead swimming with it on. And last night he’d hung it by the fire to dry, before pulling it on again just before bed.

  “He wouldn’t have taken it off on purpose,” Heinrich said, trying to keep his voice calm. He was glad Josun wasn’t with them; he’d been assigned to the inland search.

  “Other than last night when he needed to dry it by the fire, I’ve never seen Klein without it,” Brisby agreed.

  “If he got fatigued, he might not have noticed it was missing,” Gunther, a scrappy man with a graying beard, suggested.

  Heinrich considered this, nodded. “Klein was a good swimmer, but he could’ve underestimated the distance to the far side of the lake. If he got tired on the way back and lost his sock…”

  Gunther picked up the thread of thought. “The current,” he said, pointing southward. Though it was fairly gentle, Heinrich could see the way the water was moving in that direction. In fact, based on their positioning relative to the dark smudge and curling smoke that identified the location of their camp, they’d drifted with the current while searching.

  “I’ll check,” Brisby said. His fair hair and green eyes made the youngest explorer appear even younger.

  “Go with him,” Heinrich said, gesturing to Gunther. Overall, they were the two strongest swimmers in the group, just a hair behind Klein. “The rest of us will follow on foot.”

  Brisby and Gunther headed south, taking long slow strokes, paddling the water behind them. Heinrich led the other six men back to shore, where they dried off and dressed. When he glanced back across the water, he was surprised at Brisby and Gunther’s progress—they were already quite a bit further south.

  Ousted and his party approached from the south. “Any luck?” the rugged man asked.

  “We found his lucky sock,” Heinrich said. “No sign of Klein though.”

  Heinrich was certain the grim look on his best friend’s face mirrored his own.

  “Shite,” Ousted said. Then again: “Shite.”

  “Brisby and Gunther are checking downlake. You and me will follow on foot. We’ll meet the rest of you back at camp. Get warm. Eat. Rest. Wait for our return.”

  Grudgingly, the rest of the men agreed and trudged off through the snow, their shoulders weighed down by the situation.

  “Klein wouldn’t take off his sock,” Ousted said as they started south at a brisk pace; Heinrich wanted to catch up with Brisby and Gunther before they got too far ahead.

  “I know.”

  “What do you think happened?”

  Heinrich refused to meet his friend’s eyes, though he could feel them boring into the side of his head. “It might’ve gotten snagged on a plant. He might not have even noticed it was gone.” If he was being honest with himself, however, Heinrich knew it was a lie. He would’ve noticed.

  Ousted nodded. “Possible,” he said, though Heinrich knew his friend well enough to know when he was lying through his teeth.

  “The current is stronger than it looks,” Heinrich added. “Klein might’ve drifted south. If he did, Brisby and Gunther will find him.”

  “The ice is south,” Ousted pointed out.

  Heinrich had already thought of that, which was why time was of the essence. If Klein really was too tired to fight the current, he also might be too fatigued to cut a diagonal path back to shore, which meant he was in danger of being swept into the cold, sludgy waters they’d passed two days ago. If so…

  Heinrich closed his mind to the thought, refusing to give up. He’d lost men before, aye, but he’d never given up on them without visual confirmation. And he wouldn’t now.

  Still, as he scanned the water, tracking the two swimmers’ progress, Heinrich realized he was no longer searching for the telltale splashes Klein would be making if he were swimming. No, Heinrich was looking for a floating body.

  Midday arrived. Heinrich’s stomach ached with hunger, but he ignored it.

  He and Ousted had eventually passed the swimmers, moving ahead to meet them further south. He planned to check the sludgy ice flow for Klein—with any luck the man was stuck in it, still warm enough to survive with a little help. While Heinrich looked across the water, Ousted combed the rocky shoreline for any signs of the missing man.

  Suddenly his friend buckled at the waist, dropping to one knee. “Oh, no,” he said.

  Heinrich hurried over, assuming the older man was fatigued, perhaps dehydrated. He uncapped his waterskin and held it in the man’s direction. “Drink,” he said.

  But Ousted only shook his head, his eyes cast downward.

  Frowning, Heinrich moved around him and followed his gaze. Dread roiled through him like a bitter potion. His legs felt rubbery, but he managed to stay upright. He closed his eyes, but the image was burned in his mind, pulsing red and yellow.

  A pale leg, a ragged stump, having been removed from the body by something sharp and jagged, leaving only torn flesh and cracked bones at the point where it was severed.

  They’d found Klein, or at least what was left of him.

  The icy wind whipped across Heinrich’s face, stinging his eyes. His legs churned beneath him, burning from the effort. A faster runner, he’d left Ousted behind in his haste. He did his best to follow his own footprints in reverse, where the snow was the most packed and easy to traverse. As he ran, he scanned the water for Brisby and Gunther. He needed to warn them before it was too late.

  After what seemed an eternity, he found Gunther. Naked, he was crouching in the snow, his head in his hands. Unprotected from the cold, his entire body was shaking. One of his legs was covered in blood, pooling at his feet. Heinrich could just make out a long, dark scratch running along his skin, weeping blood. There was no sign of Brisby.

  “Gunth?” Heinrich said, slowing to a stop. “Are you hurt? Where’s Bris?”

  The man’s body jerked like he’d been struck by lightning. When he looked up, tears sparkled in his eyes. Rivers of grief had frozen on his cheeks and in his speckled beard. Heinrich had mistaken his shaking for shivering, but it was his sobs that had wracked his body.

  “So much blood,” the man said through cracked lips. His eyes held a haunted quality that scared the frozen hell out of Heinrich. “Dead. The lad is dead.”

  It was like a punch to the gut, and it took all of Heinrich’s strength not to stagger to his knees.

  He wanted to ask the man what had happened, what he’d seen, but that couldn’t be the priority, not now. Instead, he stripped off his thick greatcoat and wrapped it around Gunther, pulling it tight across his chest. Through the coat, he rubbed the man’s arms up and down, up and down, trying to force warmth back into his flesh. Then he wrapped his scarf around his injured leg, tying it tightly to stem the flow of blood.

  When O
usted arrived, he offered Heinrich a concerned look, but didn’t ask any questions, shucking off his outer trousers and helping him pull them onto Gunther’s legs, over the makeshift bandage. They each sacrificed a pair of socks to warm his feet. Then, together, they carried him in silence back to camp.

  Exhausted from hours swimming and perhaps from shock, Gunther curled up and slept for a long time by the fire. It wasn’t a restful kind of sleep.

  The men watched him as he twitched and jerked, occasionally crying out.

  The men ate, drank, and spoke in low tones, speculating on what might’ve happened. Heinrich wouldn’t talk about any of it—not yet. The only thing he would say was that it wasn’t safe to go back in the water.

  “Carver told me you found Klein’s lucky sock,” Josun finally said, easing down next to Heinrich.

  “We did,” Heinrich said evenly.

  “Oh.” There was a question in that word: Do you think he’s still alive?

  Heinrich hated this. It was all his fault. He’d been so stubborn, pushing north when even nature itself was warning him not to go. If he’d only heeded Ousted’s advice, two good men would still be alive.

  Every instinct spurred him to protect Jos from the truth, but he couldn’t lie to him. He couldn’t lie to any of them. “I’m sorry,” he said, resting a hand on the man’s shoulder. “He’s gone. The same thing that got Bris, got Klein.”

  The man nodded calmly, as if he’d already known it. He stood up, walking over to his tent, the one he usually shared with his best friend. He ducked inside and closed the flap.

  Gunther stirred in his sleep, and then his eyes flew open. A moment of confusion seemed to pass across his face as he looked first at the fire, and then at the bedraggled group of men sitting around him. Then, as if resigned to the reality he’d woken up to, he settled his head back into the crook of his arm, staring into the crackling flames.

  “Bris is—was—a hero,” he said, after a few moments of uneasy silence. “He saved my life. Gave his own for mine. Should’ve been the other way around. He was younger, had more years ahead of him.”