Glass Winter | Chapter XIII

“Why would you lie?”

Tematyr had followed them since they left the simmering crowd behind.

Jerard led Malcolm with a hand on the shoulder. The chief seemed small. He was the same height as Jerard.

For someone so silent during the expedition, he seems a might confident.

It goes to show how little we can truly learn in silence.

The men had all been a mystery to Gar Darron, and he was at peace with this. Now, they were proving themselves, showing their true colours. He’d be a liar if he claimed that it didn’t unsettle him.

“They’re saying,” the giant went on, “that you can’t summon a vision at will?”

Gar Darron watched Malcolm’s expression. It didn’t falter.

“I never said this.”

“Very well. They’re saying that you stayed silent when prompted. But people are speculating.”

“Well…”

“It’s speculation that’s dooming us. Every waking hour that we spend without answers removes any hope we still have at escape. We’re vulnerable.”

“Come make yourself chief if you would have done otherwise. I’m sure you think it’s easy. Or did you think I made it look easy?”

Tem said nothing.

“When I was as close I was to revelation”, continued Mal, “and I felt the presence of something greater guiding us towards salvation, like a line in the dark…. All I can say is that there was a reason for my madness. Besides, I never lied. I only bent the truth.”

Tematyr seemed like he had something more to declare, but refrained from it. He left them.

“Take me to the prayer hill. I may be demoted, but I’m not a prisoner.”

Jerard seemed almost surprised to hear Malcolm’s request, but he silently redirected the former chief, who pushed his hand away.

“Enough.” Mal walked ahead.

Jerard looked at Gar Darron, and shrugged.

What could he even do if he was free?

Holding him captive didn’t make sense.

Upon reaching the snow mound Malcolm climbed its few steps then lowered himself cross-legged onto a caribou hide. When Jerard began pacing around he was barked at to leave and not to disturb the session.

“Go on,” said Gar Darron, “Where’s Mal going to go? Let’s not make a show out of this.”

“There’s nothing personal in wanting to keep an eye on him from now on. Just our souls on the line, old Gar.”

Jerard patted the other’s shoulder, then departed. From his position, the lead scout of their party could see how the masons were making the walls of the commune taller with fresh blocks of packed snow.

“Step forward, Gar, and let me see the staff, at least.”

Gar Darron still held the thing in his hands, feeling its radiant warmth despite the lantern’s drawn shutters. He brought it to Mal, who opened the light, and it spilled even more than before. The hill became the shell of a glowing cinder, the snow amplifying in brightness.

Mal closed it shut, and sat in silence. His wizened eyes were not there with the other man at his side.

“Chief?”

“Do not be mad at the others, Gar Darron.” The staff was handed back, “Perhaps I deserve this by the laws of men. I didn’t trust man with something so great yet feeble as faith in the circumstances we found ourselves. I couldn’t save us nor prove the worth of the wait in the time we’ve spent here. But that changes.”

Mal was eyeing the staff.

“Yes, that changes. It’s already changed.”

Mal looked at the scout.

“Fetch me a flagon of the remaining blaand, before the new chief bars my access. I mean to dream long and deeply. Then go to Sowne, and serve him well. And harbour no ill will. Each man is yet to play a part before this is over.”

~~~~~

The days without purpose that followed were gruelling, despite the safety they promised. Gar Darron wasn’t caving, nor fighting spirits or disillusioned old commune denizens, he just was. The only threats to his body came from the storm during the digs for reindeer moss outside of their borders, but even there an extension of the wall had been constructed to shield the gatherers when no scouting from them was needed.

In the dark when only night was their constant, and nothing to toil with neither hands nor mind, would the cruellest of fates be found. As if this was all that was earned.

But not for Sowne. As the new chief, he oversaw all else; remembering names, planning commune extensions and movements (they couldn’t go too far out across the ice, they had to trace its shore) allocating rations, cutting rations, allocating fuel for fire, and on and on.

Malcolm had received his blaand, a think fermentation of deer milk whey brought over in limited supply from the old commune. Tangy and intoxicating, Gar Darron had been tempted to steal a few drops for himself but decided against it, watching the former chief carefully imbibe a quarter of the flagon instead before being bid farewell.

Nodding off.

Some had come to visit the man before his rest, demanding answers as Tematyr had. Gar Darron had to ward them and their outrage off when they saw the drink. Despite this, Malcolm wished to be alone. The scout hadn’t visited him since, three sleeps of his own later.

He wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his sleeve, raising it above the wall, curious, and watched the winds freeze the moist streaks in a matter of seconds. Gar Darron coughed, then ripped the patch of grey-green lichen he had uncovered from the ground. This was no way to live, even if it was earned.

Sowne, position secured, awaited the return of Eron and company, and life went back to the way it was under Mal. Not that much could have changed in three days, Gar was no dullard, but it irked him regardless.

Perhaps it was necessary to demote their former chief, though Sowne was now a dishonest man for it. He had never lied outright to Malcolm, nor to anyone close to him, but he had played with an underhand. It would have made sense, if Malcolm had been insane, and it did at the time. Seeing Mal now, however, after everything had collapsed for the man….

He seems as sane as ever.

And yet, it was natural law. Despite Malcolm’s best intentions, despite the people who had backed him ever since he had led the escape from the old commune, and the crossing of the ringwoodite sea, his was no longer a part that made sense. Sowne had earned the part, and he had been wise with it. Perhaps, this was right. Perhaps, grit and brains, over brains alone, were needed to release them from their suffering.

People were shouting. Gar Darron looked back along the extension of the wall, towards the inside of the commune. People were running. Soon he was running too, leaving the lichen behind.

Many of the masons were gathering at the ‘northern’ side, taking the bailey apart. The shouting continued.

“Let them through!”

For a moment Gar Darron considered the folly of trusting a party’s identity from the other side just by the familiar sound of their voice. But when the wall was broken that fear disappeared.

Eron walked through, leaving his scutum of snow for the masons to rebuild with. He was followed by the grizzled but sprightly Holland, sullen Sinner with his white eye, and two dusky men whom Gar Darron had never bothered to learn the names of. The party of five walked past him, briefly acknowledging Sowne before moving together, while the builders made haste with the wall. The winds grazed at Gar Darron’s skin, but he flared the hood of his furs and turned to follow the others.

“Is Bratislav here? Anyone know?”

Most shrugged, but the man in question soon turned his head and grinned at Gar Darron.

“Find the remaining scouts of the sea party, let them know we’re convening at Sowne’s for Eron’s account of what’s north.”

The nimble man nodded and was off.

It’s likely that the chief will devise a new expedition, and all of us need to be there to hear it.

Sowne’s place was much smaller to Malcolm’s, and located above the surface. There was a boiling kettle on a personal brazier of burning oil just outside, from which most of Gar Darron’s and Eron’s party poured themselves tusks full of lichen tea, earthy and sweet.

“Now don’t keep us waiting, Malcolm won’t be joining us. Tell us what you’ve found. You weren’t gone long.”

“Should one be concerned?” One of the dusky men warily looked at his tea.

“There’s been a change of leadership in your absence,” Sowne raised his arms then dropped them at his sides, nodding slowly, “Something many of us have long anticipated. But you’ll have no issues from me, Reyansh. So, drink up. You’re welcome to join, Eron.”

Eron ignored Sowne and didn’t grace the rest of them with a look, at first. He swiped a chunk of ice from the ground and bit down with a crunch, before beckoning the company inside with his head.

“Trek went as planned. We alternated our watch when we slept, keeping our shelters close. I led the expedition. So, I was first to notice the mountains.”

“Mountains?”

Sowne didn’t sound convinced.

“Aye, mountains.” Eron ate some more ice, “Rock-strewn slopes came down to the shores. Per instruction we scaled them, best we could. Our scutum would crumble and we’d have to rebuild, so we used some large stones for cover. Couldn’t get far. Anyway, their heights saw no end. Crane a neck and all you’d see is a natural wall. Mountains, highland. It’s certain.”

“Alright…” Sowne paced the room, “It’s a good thing we waited for your return. Is it not, Gar Darron? Awaiting Eron’s return?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve upheld my end of the bargain,” Eron strode past the men to the kettle, and poured himself some tea, “It’s a tough job, it is. And it’s done.”

“And that’s all you have to say?” Sowne approached the scout, standing half a head above him, “Nothing else that you saw, or heard? No ‘movements in the darkness’?”

“Perhaps significant progress angers them…. Come if they do, we’ll deal with them.”

Eron made to leave but had his arm held back.

“Is that a no?”

The scout didn’t reply. He stood there, with his tea, eyeing the scout master from beneath a worn and cresting brow. Firm, stolid. Sowne removed his grip.

Eron walked.

“Nothing we saw nor heard, nothing that I’m aware of.”

He looked around at the men in his squad. Waiting.

“Save for a necessary word nobody speaks to each other in the storm,” Eron’s eyes locked with Gar Darron’s, “As I’m sure you’d understand.”

We’re silent men on solemn missions. Nothing more to be said.

“But a man can’t deny what he discovers when all his other senses are inhibited.” Spoke the grizzled Holland, “Call it placebo. Call it vain faith. But the higher we climbed, the surer our mission became. Your mind becomes clear. You breathe easier. Not something a mountain ascent is known for, as I’m sure you know.”

“I know.” Sowne looked away, and began to pace.

“I’ve upheld my end of the bargain.” Repeated Eron.

“I am aware, sir.”

“No ‘sir’. We found a landmark that we can now work towards, and it’s a highland at that. There’s a good chance of seeing the lights from its peaks, as you so often claimed would help us. Now’s the time to move.”

Sowne stopped, “I am aware of my promise. And there’s a very good chance that an escape is within our grasp. We could work towards it – I’m adamant – and lose many men in the process. But that was before we had gathered new intel, when our hopes hung by the thread that was your expedition. Now, we have a stronger claim for escape. Backed by your spiritual experience, of course.”

Eron cocked his head, “Our… spiritual experience?”

“Don’t deny it now. The clearance of the mind Holland mentioned when climbing the mountain!”

Sowne pointed a finger at Gar Darron, then at Eron.

“Both of your parties are heading down to the ringwoodite sea. There’s a cave you’re to scale, and a wall to pick through. We’ve a better chance of making it to the lights from there, whose existence above we’re nearly certain of now.”

So, we are going back down there.

Gar Darron had never been bothered by the sea, save for the skirmish with the spirits upon the first crossing. Still, descending down there again was….

He couldn’t put it to words. He almost didn’t want to. To not breathe more life into the matter than was necessary.

“And how long should the tunnelling take, chief?”

“As long as is needed, Eron. There’s no telling how long the old plan would take, nor how many lives would be lost—”

“You’ve said that.” Eron paced the assembly of the sea party, inspecting every man.

He stopped at the hairless mute.

“This the one that can’t speak, yes? He got a name?”

“Perhaps he did once,” Said Gar Darron, “Nobody knows it now.”

Eron scoffed, closely looked the mute up and down, then stepped away, “Sinew…”

He looked around the room and sighed, “When an opportunity for salvation presents itself, regardless of who we were in a past life, it needs to be taken. Some people in this commune, including myself, would be intent on taking it.”

“That’s really what you and these hypothetical ‘some people’ believe, is it? Do you have a complaint regarding my guidance?” Demanded Sowne.

“I’ve said my piece.”

“Hey, hey,” Sowne approached Eron.

The satisfaction of leadership hasn’t cooled his hot-headedness.

“I’m adamant, but not foolish. You’re heading down there, the lot of you. The sooner it’s done the sooner we go home, but I don’t have to explain that to you. Now, you’ll have your choice of provisions and their number; and you’ll get the job done.”

Gar Darron thought he understood the logic. The Mountain Wall, and the ascent from its sea, was a steep climb but one that wouldn’t squander their days. Every shard of rock that comprised the wall was not thick so boring through would be a simple enough assignment. However, there was no guarantee that the caverns Gar Darron saw led up and through a mountain, he was realising, and they could end up on the surface once more, now leagues away from the commune, with the wall many leagues still behind them.

But it was not like Sowne to be unaware of this. It was a risk worth taking, and if it led to nothing then they would opt for Eron’s proposal. At least, that’s what a soldier ought to think. Gar Darron had no choice but to rely on the new chief’s wisdom.

And yet the thought of seeing that sea again makes my skin crawl…

There was no choice. It was this or damnation.

“The chief has a taste for the rash.” Said Eron, “That’s why he’s the chief.”

Gar Darron puzzled over this statement as the scout who made it moved away from the scout master.

“Each man is yet to play a part before this is over.”

Chiefdom hadn’t come easy to Mal. It didn’t intend to be easy for Sowne. But at least, for the first time in their collective memory, hope was rekindling.