The Ice Lands

by William Dickey

  “Hey, haven’t you guys had enough yet. We’ve told you everything we know. I think you’re just doing this now because you enjoy it,” Sylph shouted between bangs against her door.

  “Oh, the girl’s feisty this time. You know how rare that is? How sweet that is? I know we normally start with the man, but can we take her first this time?” asked Mr. Blond.

  “Whatever,” said Mr. Black.

  Bolevard’s stomach sank as the door next to his squeaked open and Sylph was dragged away. She’d offered herself up to buy him a bit more time, to spare him from punishment. Bolevard finished cleaning up then sat on his bed. Thoughts of what was happening to Sylph just a few hundred yards away consumed him.

  “Status,” Bolevard called trying to distract himself.

  Name

  †Bolevard Croch†

  Level

  5

  Class

  None

  Exp

  348/350

  Health

  150/200

  Satiety

  65/100

  Stamina

  140/150

  Hydration

  110/100

  Mana

  0/0

  Status

  Guilty

  Vitality

  20

  Strength

  15

  Agility

  10

  Endurance

  15

  Magic

  0

  Dexterity

  10

  Energy

  0

  Defense

  15

  Intelligence

  10

  †Skills†

  †Sword Mastery Lvl. 3 (29.4%)†

  †Barter Lvl. 2 (67.3%)†

  †Oxygen Deprivation Resistance Lvl. 6 (67.5%)†

  If the mouse had been worth just two more experience points, Bolevard’s second task would be done. Magic was a rare gift for humans on his world and as the status screen indicated, he didn’t have a scrap of that talent. Fortunately, Bolevard knew that could be changed. He just needed to reach the next level.

  After an hour or so, Bolevard finally heard the footsteps and another metallic squeak as Sylph was returned to her cell.

  “Well, that was fun. We should do that more often,” said Mr. Blond.

  “I don’t see the point. The results weren’t really any different,” said Mr. Black.

  “Jesus, stop being so results oriented. It was more interesting for us, isn’t that of some value,” said Mr. Blond.

  Mr. Black remained silent as he opened the door to Bolevard’s cell and threw a hood over Bolevard’s head.

  When the hood came off, Bolevard was in the same old torture chamber in the same chair with the same cushion seat that was perpetually soggy. The same dirty hose sat in the corner of the room, steadily dripping just enough to form a line of water to the drain in the center of the floor.

  Bolevard had to do a double take. A pale green fluid, still wet and glistening in the dim fluorescent lighting, saturated the floor normally clear of all but water. Bolevard knew what it was even though he’d never seen it before. It was blood, elvish blood.

  “What did you do to her,” Bolevard leapt out of his seat and charged Mr. Blond. His hands were bound behind his back so Bolevard was forced to use a head butt. Bolevard’s thick skull pounded Mr. Blond’s abdomen, sending him to the ground gasping for air. The three of them had been in this room dozens of times so Bolevard’s attack had caught both of the torturers off guard, buying Bolevard just enough time to score a single stomp on Mr. Blond’s prone body before Mr. Black responded with a roundhouse punch that smacked Bolevard’s left temple, knocking him straight to the ground.

  “Well things just keep getting more and more interesting today,” said Mr. Blond as he returned to his feet and proceeded to empty a flurry of kicks on Bolevard’s gut.

  It was then that Bolevard saw it. As he lay in a pool of Sylph’s blood, he saw that the pattern of green wasn’t entirely random. Sylph had written a strange wavy symbol in her own blood. Bolevard knew it had to be the sigil she’d been trying to pass to him. He spent the next minute or two staring at the symbol, engraving it into his memory as Mr. Blond scored heavier blows on him. Eventually Mr. Blond’s blows proved too much and everything faded to black.

  “Bolevard. Bolevard. Are you there?”

  Bolevard woke to Sylph’s sweet voice coming up from the vent in the floor. He was lying in his prison bed. After Mr. Blond had beaten him unconscious, neither of the torturers saw any point in continuing that day’s session and returned him to his cell.

  “Bolevard. Bolevard. Are you there?”

  Bolevard got up and lurched over to the vent. Pain seethed across his bruised body, but it didn’t matter. No amount of pain could dampen his mood.

  “Yes, Sylph, I’m here,” Bolevard croaked.

  “Thank goodness. I’ve been calling you for an hour, ever since they brought you back. Are you alright? What happened?” Sylph asked.

  “They beat me pretty bad. I am still… Look it doesn’t matter. I saw all the blood. Are you alright?” Bolevard asked.

  “I’ll be okay, eventually,” said Sylph. “But what’s more important is, did you see it?”

  “I saw the sigil. I think I have it all memorized, assuming I didn’t lose something while I was blacked out,” said Bolevard.

  “Good,” said Sylph.

  “Sylph?”

  “Yes?”

  “I’m glad you’re here, with me,” said Bolevard not daring to raise his voice above a whisper. “I couldn’t imagine getting through this with anyone else.”

  “I feel the same,” Sylph whispered back.

  Bolevard’s heart raced and a strange boundless hope filled the man far more accustomed to despair.

  Izusa and I stayed in our treetop haven with Robin for a week as Izusa completed her recovery. She’d wanted to set back off right away, but I managed to convince her to wait, if she collapsed again there was no guarantee I’d be able to carry her to safety. During that week, roaming gangs of New Fallen passed by twice, but given the amount of noise they made, we always had plenty of time to get into the trees.

  When we were ready to go, I asked Robin if he wanted to come with us, but he flatly refused. I couldn’t blame him. After all that happened, the idea of going to a beastman city terrified him. He preferred spending the rest of his days naked and alone to doing that, but I supplied him with alternative, to migrate south. He would be far more welcomed in Xebrya.

  Even riding on Izusa’s back, it took nine days to reach the heart of Izusa’s clan, Doraga. As we approached the city late one morning, I couldn’t help but notice how similar it was to Dewpoint. It too was filled with structures of wood and animal hide flanked by organized dirt roads. Smoke billowed from holes in the top of the structures, from fires inside to keep them warm. However, unlike the yurts in Dewpoint, which were covered by cow leather, the tents in Doraga were covered in thick bear and wolf pelts. It was probably only because of a greater need to maintain warmth in a clan so far north, but it also gave the clan an air of fierceness Dewpoint lacked. Only the strongest could thrive here.

  As we approached the city, we passed a group of four beastmen on their way out.

  “Hey, Izusa, is that you?” asked a middle-aged man in leather armor shaped for a wolfman. “It has been ages. You just coming back from the front?”

  “Yes, the clan chief has me running an errand,” Izusa nodded towards me. The clan chief was also her father, but she still referred to him as clan chief in this circumstance to maintain an official air.

  Probably because of my strange attire, one of the other beastmen sniffed at me deeply. “This one is human? Why did you bring a human here?” The beastman drew his dagger while his compatriots shifted into more aggressive stances.

  “It is the clan chief’s business,” Izusa said, gesturing for the beastman to lower his weapon. “If it comes to anything, he will
discuss it at the next clan meeting.”

  The beastmen all nodded and relaxed. “So how is the front?” the first beastman asked.

  “Rough,” Izusa answered. “I assume you hear news of it regularly.”

  “Not as regularly as you would think. But Talia returned a few weeks ago so we have caught up on the most important parts,” said the beastman.

  “It is a bit late in the season for hunting,” said Izusa, remarking on how the quartet were geared up.

  “Yes,” the first beastman agreed. A storm had passed through the area a couple days ago leaving the area covered in a few inches of snow that would likely linger for the next five or six months. During this time, most of the game would either move on or go into hiding. “But given the timing of the upcoming Blood Moon, Hart and I thought it best to give our young ones some more practice in this environment.” The beastman nodded towards two of the younger members of the party who looked to be about my age.

  “You cannot be too prepared,” Izusa waved the group goodbye and we continued moving on.

  “This… Blood Moon is happening soon?” I asked.

  “In about two months,” Izusa answered. “It is a shame those two are going to have a rough go of it this time.”

  “You are not confident in their ability?” I asked. The pair of young beastmen both looked strong and the fact they were going out to practice meant they weren’t shirking their responsibilities.

  “No, all of the young ones who have their Blood Moon this time are going to have things rough,” said Izusa. “It has been nearly three years since the last Blood Moon so the number of participants this time will be unusually high. On top of that, it will happen in the middle of winter and during a year in which game was already sparse. Many will become Fallen.”

  “If it’s going to be bad this year than why don’t you change the rules. Let some wait for the next one or get a second try or something,” I suggested.

  Izusa spat at that. “Life is difficult and fortune whether it be good or bad is a part of life. Othans face whatever challenges they may come across. It is our way.”

  It was still daytime, so the city of Doraga was quiet. A couple people waved to Izusa as we passed but mostly we were left alone as we moved into the center of the city. Izusa went straight to an especially large and elaborately decorated yurt that I had assumed belonged to the clan chief even before Izusa said as much.

  “Wait here,” she said just outside of it. “My father is probably sleeping and I need to explain a few things.” Izusa entered the tent and I was left alone outside.

  After twenty minutes, Izusa returned with an older beastmen that I immediately identified as her father by their shared ice blue eyes. Despite being well into his fifties, the beastman looked surprisingly fit, his muscles were well toned and bulging, though I suppose I shouldn’t have been shocked. Given how I’d heard the beastmen treat the weak, I wouldn’t have been surprised if the old or infirm were ritualistically sacrificed the moment they couldn’t pull their weight.

  “Ahh, you must be Isaac, my daughter has told me much about you,” said the beastman in a deep booming voice. “I am Jutmaek Wolfclaw, clan chief of Doraga.”

  “Hello,” I replied, offering my hand to shake though Jutmaek didn’t take it.

  “You are in the Othal Confederation now. You should get used to our ways and the proper way to great an Othan is a simple downward turn of your head,” said Jutmaek as he demonstrated. “Remember not to do it so deeply that you break eye contact. To lose focus is a weakness so it is best not to display it.”

  I repeated the gesture and Jutmaek flashed a small smile.

  “Good. My daughter just told me all that happened on your journey. I will not waste time going through all the details. All I need to know is that you can get inside, right?” said Jutmaek.

  “Yes,” I replied.

  “Good, that is all I need to know.”

  “What? Really, that’s it… you don’t want any proof or anything?” I asked.

  “Not necessary. If you did not feel like you could do it, you would not be here. You could have turned back, but you came, despite the risk, because you see the potential just like I do,” said Jutmaek.

  “Risk? I suppose the journey will be dangerous,” I said.

  “It will be. Grunbears, thunderhawks, ice elementals, and other fierce beasts of the Ice Lands coupled with the environment itself, air so cold you cannot breathe too quickly or your lungs will freeze. And who knows what will be found at the destination…” Jutmaek continued listing the dangers. I began to regret coming.

  “…And of course that is assuming we can go at all,” Jutmaek continued, regaining my attention. “Now, I know you are probably worried about it, but I assure you that you will be entirely safe even if we do not go.”

  “What do you mean, if we go?” I asked.

  “Calm down, do not get your tail feathers twisted,” Jutmaek chuckled. “I said you do not have to worry about that. My authority as clan chief may be insufficient to declare as large an undertaking as an expedition to the Permerine Shrine but I can guarantee your safety.”

  “But why am I in danger?” I asked.

  “Some will be unhappy when they learn you are here. Some because we are currently at war with humans while others because we must share some of our dwindling resources with you while you are here,” Jutmaek explained. “Do not worry, I will call a clan meeting this evening and will get everything squared away, I am sure it will be fine.”

  Jutmaek yawned deeply. It was daytime, so quite late for the beastman. “Izusa will show you where you will be staying. Rest up, I want you to be there tonight. You will not have to do anything, I just want you to understand what is going on.”

  So with that, the aging beastman returned to his yurt and Izusa led me away.

  Ch. 9: Meeting

  After meeting Jutmaek, Izusa took me to a small yurt where I’d be staying while in Doraga. The yurt had belonged to a young hunter but had been vacant since he went missing the past summer. The place was dusty and a bit primitive but contained all the basic amenities that could be expected, a hearth, a few scattered cooking implements, and most importantly a straw bed covered in layers of soft fur blankets. It wasn’t long before I was fast asleep. Izusa woke me a few hours later, around midnight, and guided me to the clan’s meeting place.

  The meeting place was a large conical teepee. The outer three quarters of the structure contained concentric circles of chairs where all the most influential Doragans would soon be seated. In the center was a pavilion where someone could address all assembled and a large fire. Doraga was cold and you could never be far from a flame.

  “Just wait in here,” said Izusa as she guided me into a cordoned off section on the edge of the meeting teepee that served as a supply closet. Inside were shelves carrying Othan versions of office supplies, rolls of unused vellum, a handful of stiff owlbear feather quills, and a couple bottles of ink made from squished blackberg termites. “You can see and hear everything going on. Just keep it down and no one will realize you’re back here.”

  I didn’t understand why Jutmaek wanted me back here, but I didn’t complain. I was both curious and cautious, so I did as told. Izusa backed away and lowered the leather tent flap that separated the closet from the large room beyond. I peeked through a gap in the flap. From there, I could see everything.

  ‘Hiding in the closet, don’t you love it when life gets metaphorical,’ said Mai.

  “Shhh, something’s finally happening,” I replied.

  After half an hour of waiting, I finally started hearing movement outside. Izusa had brought me in early so I could be circumspect.

  “Welcome, Snakescale. Nice to see you, Beetleexoskeleton,” I heard Jutmaek say. The volume of his voice continually wavered as the door flap to the outside opened and closed between people entering.

  “Beetleexoskeleton? Seriously? That’s his name?” I asked Mai.

  ‘That’s what it trans
lates to. All Othan sir names are their beastform followed by a body part. In this case, his was Beetleexoskeleton. It’s a mouthful, but it sure beats, Grargraagrr,’ said Mai. ‘Unless you’d rather me leave all names in their original language.’ Mai transformed into a blue Jutmaek.

  ‘Hello, Mr. Grargraagrr. How do you do, Mrs. Ragrarrag? I hear little Gwargrr and Ragregraw caught the flu. I hope they get well soon,’ said Mai.

  “Enough, I get the point,” I relented.

  “Truant Beartooth, good to see you. I was not sure you could make it back in time,” Jutmaek continued, greeting an exceptionally large muscular beastman with short black hair and a scar running vertically across his right eye. The eye itself was still functional so whatever event created the scar had been a close call. Truant Beartooth was different than most of the influential clan members joining the meeting. He was much younger, in his early thirties.

  “What is this about Chief Wolfclaw? You know how I feel about surprises,” said Truant.

  “You will have to wait like everyone else. You may be one of the clan’s best hunters but you do not have any special privileges, Truant,” Jutmaek replied before moving onto the next person.

  “Good to see you, Adriel,” Jutmaek greeted an especially old beastman in a decorative red and white robe, unusual for the utilitarian society.

  “Good to see you, Jutmaek. I have not seen you at services as of late,” said the fanciful old beastman.

  “Well… You know how busy I have been the last few months. Organizing things with the other clan chiefs has tripled my workload,” said Jutmaek.

  “I understand and I am sure the gods do as well. Just try not to be such a stranger. Try not to overwork yourself. You are just a mortal. There is only so much you can do. The rest must be left to the gods,” said Adriel.

  “I will try,” Jutmaek agreed as Adriel walked past.

  There were many more greetings, as around fifty beastmen and beastwomen filed in. As people took their seats, I overheard numerous conversations starting up. Many voiced the same questions as Truant. What was Jutmaek up to? Why was a meeting of the full assembly called on such short notice? Sometimes extra meetings were called to organize for the Blood Moon, but that did not explain the urgency of this affair.