Glass Winter | Chapter XII

The streets were empty, but for the occasional wandering soul.

With Gar Darron and Eron’s parties gone that’s ten men this commune is short of.

But that wasn’t the whole truth. Mal saw how others moved towards the fishing grounds, and felt at rest. A good catch, more than likely. A very good catch.

He wouldn’t have the opportunity to see for himself nor to head for prayer before Vel was approaching him.

“They’ve found the staff, Mal. Sevt was telling the truth.”

I didn’t doubt it much.

“Well done to Sowne’s men. Hopefully this will calm him down. Bring it to me.”

“There’s something else that they claim to have found…”

Vel’s eyes wandered away. Eyes that spoke of awe and sublimity.

“What is it?” Mal looked between Vel and the approaching squad over his shoulder.

“They would never have noticed if it wasn’t for the light in Sevt’s lantern. The men claim that it turned night into day down in the earth. It had guided them for all of the second day’s descent.”

“What did they find?”

A man with dark curls – broad and stanch – approached, “The way out.”

The last thing Mal expected upon noticing Sowne, navigating around the squad into view, was for his heart to stop and start again. He did not have a chance to voice his surprise before the man was commanding.

“We need picks. And ropes. As much as we can get, Mal. These lads are going to scale the inside of a mountain. With any luck they’ll get a great view of the lights from the peak.”

They reported to Sowne first.

It didn’t surprise Mal. They were the scout master’s men.

People were watching.

“Not here.” Malcolm indicated to them, “Come.”

“One more thing, Mal.” Vel held back the arm of the chief, “There’s a… request, from your captive.”

“Sevt? He’s not a captive.”

“Fine. It’s regarding the remaining timber.”

Is everyone testing my patience?

“Not now. Wait a moment. And not a word regarding this.”

Mal indicated to Sowne again, who was smirking.

Vel went on his way and the rest of them walked, following the length of the wall to the nearest shelter that bordered it, entering its alley.

“Where’s Gar Darron?”

“He’s occupied with another matter.” The man with the dark curls glanced in Sowne’s direction with tight lips. Sowne smirked.

“Whichever’s more dire, tell it so.” And every minute of the report would stoke Malcolm’s dread, and grind the wheels of his mind.

Focus.

“How can you be sure?”

The man with the curls, Jerard, glanced between the chief and the scout master, between the other men, “Well. It is a ringwoodite sea. If it was formed by pockets of the mineral bursting with water it’s safe to assume the caverns above were once part of it.”

“But how can you be sure it leads to the summit?”

“We can’t.” Sowne nodded to Jerard and stepped forwards, “But it’s more progress than we’ve made in some time, that you cannot deny.”

It was Mal, Sowne, and four men of the scout party there in that alley, all against him, more than likely.

He’s challenging me again.

“We wouldn’t lose more resources or men than needed in investigating a potential summit,” Sowne went on, “or at least scaling the mountain from the inside, something we can’t do here with the storm, and whose verticality on the other side prevented us before. How steep were these caverns, Jer?”

“They’re caverns, not shafts. There’s surer footing to be found in them.”

“There you have it. It’s a shame that Eron’s already gone beyond the commune. But, if need be, Gar Darron can head this party again. He’ll follow my orders, no questions asked, and we’ll receive some answers to questions of our own.”

“Whether or not the lights shine above the storm?” Asked Malcolm, “We can assume that they do, but how can we presume that these pockets are open to the air? Your men would have to mine through the rock once they reach the massif’s apex, of which there’s no guarantee of success.”

“Shall we call on a vision, if that’s the case?”

The others – the nameless mute, a long-haired man with sunken eyes, and a young man with a blue birthmark splashed across his temple – seemed to wait with suspicious anticipation.

“Mal?” Sowne cocked his head, “Perhaps you can call on a vision from the Lord? Ask him whether Eron’s or Gar Darron’s party will be luckier with intel that can save the rest of us?”

Sowne is not going to let up.

He was going to keep pushing. Mal suspected, as any reasonable man would, that some in the commune could already see past his lies when it came to prophecy.

No. Not lies. Exaggerations.

He didn’t have a choice. Even now, admitting to the fact that he could not summon a vision at will would not curry favour with the men in that alley.

“I’ve sent Eron on his way,” said Sowne, “But let’s be honest, as men with common sense, this inner mountain climb, and boring, bears fairer odds than a blind expedition across the ice.”

“And if they find nothing?”

I know they will. I have faith.

Mal needed to parry.

“You don’t believe that. You of all people. I wouldn’t have these men believing in that either. That is why we’re in an alley, after all. Wouldn’t want the wrong people to presume that either of our missions are doomed.”

Of course not.

“We all want a chance at redemption, Mal. That’s why we keep fighting to live every day. Every day. Why wait? Why not take a chance when it’s presented to us. We’re worthy, after all. After everything that we’ve been through.”

Footfalls.

Mal turned to face them with an axe over his head. It was Bratislav, nimble and thin, a fast runner, and out of breath.

“Tem called… Gar Darron… he’s brought some… old friends.”

Mal looked towards Jerard, “Another matter, you said?”

“The mushers.” Bratislav panted, “The remaining mushers have returned.”

Impossible.

Mal sheathed his axe and followed the messenger, hearing the others following suit behind him.

They kept the specifics from me.

He would need to face the facts sooner or later, if not already.

Half the commune might have already seen them.

If not to remain the man in charge, then to at least keep his head. Mal couldn’t leave the people with a brazen man like Sowne in charge, especially if the man chose to dispose of the chief.

You’re paranoid. Focus.

No fear. There could be no fear.

The denizens flocked to the fishing grounds, obstructing access and sight with a gathering crowd, all murmuring.

“Out of the way.” Malcolm pushed past them, “Bring them to me. To me.”

As the people parted, he saw them; Soren ‘Yowl’ and Cara ‘Tear’, unharmed, unbothered. Smiling even.

“So, they’ve made you chief.” Soren nodded, “Well, we could have worse.”

“So much worse,” Replied Cara, “But he’ll do just fine. Perfectly fine.”

“I’m sure I will. And have.”

Mal inspected them. Their furs were torn and shoddy, as if they had been under great attack, but the mushers that wore them did not seem to mind.

“Did the demon get to you?”

“What demon?” Soren glanced between the woman and the chief, “Which… oh… oh you mean the demon of wallow and despair, don’t you?”

“It wasn’t a pretty sight, what happened in the old commune, that much is certain,” nodded Cara, “What could we do but soldier on, slowly and surely making our way back to your company?”

“No thanks to your captive,” Gar Darron stepped around them, a staff on his back.

He took it with both of his hands and revealed the lantern within, reflecting radiant and hot in the eyes of the mushers.

“Man’s been telling the truth this whole time,” Gar Darron sheathed the lamp, casting them back into darkness and cold, “Our old friends even claim that they had a trail of oil to follow once the tethered buoys ended.”

“Sevt did everything in his power to ensure any remaining survivors had a chance of making it back to us,” now Tematyr came into view from the crowd, “To ensure that they had a chance of making it back.”

“Indeed, we’re fortunate,” Said Soren, “Much couldn’t be said about the dogs.”

“We ate them,” Said Cara, “And theirs was a nourishing taste. Those we didn’t eat we gave to the spirits.”

“Gave?” Asked Mal.

“And they left us alone,” Soren shook his head, as if still in disbelief, “Who knew how cooperative these bastards could be?”

“If only we’d been so diplomatic when we crossed,” said Tematyr, “Perhaps even the rest of us might have stood a chance—”

“Quiet, Tem.”

“So, Mal, you expect me trust a word of what they’ve told us?”

“Everything’s clear enough,” claimed Gar, “We have the staff, they’re alive and well—”

“And have you checked them for brands, for bruises? For any marks?”

“Finally,” Sowne’s voice came from somewhere in the crowd, “The giant’s borne reason.”

Tem ignored him, grabbing Soren by the scruff of his furs, who meekly struggled while the other inspected his skin.

With a look from Mal, Gar Darron pulled the tall one away, and when he lunged again Tem had to be pushed to keep a distance.

“Alright, both of you. Make better use of your strength and house them somewhere far from our other shelters.”

“After all this effort to bring them here?” Jerard tossed his head full of curls, “We’ve emptied one igloo for Quinart already, where’s the rest of the storage to go once we start housing these ones?”

“It’s an order. You all still remember what that means, don’t you?” Mal looked around, awaiting a response. Nothing. Not even from Sowne.

You were smirking for a reason, weren’t you? They came to you first with this lot, and kept them out here for all the commune to see, the opposite of discreet.

“I need a woman, preferably two, to inspect Cara’s hands, neck, and hair for any signs of infection, or branding, or God knows what else. Behind closed doors. I expect two men to do the same for Soren.” It didn’t take long for volunteers to present themselves, “You’ll find a place for them each, housed separately. And you’ll report back to me afore the morrow.”

Once he heard an acknowledgement he went on his way and left them to their work.

“And why not check them now?”

Sowne made himself known, preventing Mal from leaving.

“Your approach for dealing with Quin once he was checked and found infected is something we all remember well. Now do as you’re commanded.”

Malcolm walked on, but Sowne pushed him back.

“Why shouldn’t we check them here?”

“I just told you—”

Sowne pushed Malcolm again.

“Hey!” It was Tem, now between them.

“Easy, giant.”

“You’re pushing your authority, Sowne. The man told you to back down.”

“He is a man. And just that.” The scout master looked Malcolm up and down, then glanced around, “You don’t want us to check here because if they are infected then we’d have to dispose of them. You know this.”

“You’ll do no such thing even if it’s true.” Malcolm gently pushed past Tematyr, “Quin’s under my protection, and nothing has come yet of his branding, and the mushers will be equally treated—”

“Perhaps they will be. Perhaps I’ll choose otherwise.”

‘I’ll’? What’s he on about…?

“It’s very well that Sevt’s staff helped guide Yowl and Tear back to us. He’s still a green drop, of course, someone we haven’t seen in years, so his input should be treated with caution. And Gar Darron’s discovery of a way forward, or up, rather, has been substantial as well.”

What is he implying?

“We’ve gotten things done, Malcolm. Sevt and I. Without dreams or visions. It’s clear that our choices matter more than yours, in the end, so you’ll only accept what’s natural, won’t you?”

Others were already murmuring, aware of his proposition.

“As scout master and right-hand man of the former chief, I’m assuming command of this commune.”