The Road to Fjallmark - Part 1
Though the morning air was crisp and cold and the ground stiff with frost, the sky that rose over the mountains was a clear and cloudless blue that seemed to promise a day of easy travel. So when they had set out from Forsbyr that morning, Neea Kallenen was sure she had prepared well enough. She was, after all, the town’s Scholar General, and reading the weather was one of the many skills she had acquired in her years at the Conservatory.
She had put on thick, warm leggings, pulled a felt cap over her ears, donned her heaviest woolen cloak, and slipped on leather boots and gloves lined with eiderdown. And Pim, the timid, bright-eyed, curly-headed boy the Guild had assigned to her, had done the same.
Their journey that day would take them north to Fjallmark, a village that was not much more than a spattering of homesteads nestled deep in the mountains. The folk who lived there were a hardy bunch, fierce and independent. But with winter beginning, they were in need of a fresh supply of medicines before the snow settled over the mountain passes and cut them off until spring.
So Neea had gathered up all her supplies—vials of ointments for bad teeth and aching joints, satchels of herbs to brew for colds and fevers—and secured them in a buckskin pack slung across her shoulder. Pim had filled his with water skins and enough food for a few small meals. And just before they left their quarters, Neea took her crossbow from the post where it hung on the wall.
“We shouldn’t have need of it,” she told Pim, who eyed the weapon with apprehension. “But on any journey, especially one that takes you through the wilds, it’s important to be prepared.”
And with that, they were out the door.
Though larger than Fjallmark, Forsbyr itself was but a small mining outpost that sat in the shadow of Mount Stoldjir, the highest peak among the northern ridge. Only a single road of dirt and cobblestone ran through the town, flanked on either side by a collection of timber framed buildings with thatched, yellow roofs. The Nightgate Inn, which for the last two months Neea and Pim had called home, was the only two-storied structure among them. It sat sensibly in the middle of town, its warm, hearth-lit hall drawing a crowd each night to sing and drink and devour the day’s gossip. But apart from the inn, Forsbyr was a sleepy, uneventful place.
image [https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/54013442697_b8609fb60d_b.jpg]
The pair strolled down the road, greeting familiar faces as they passed. Eivar, the rangy, gray-haired fletcher, bid them safe travels from his doorway. And barrel-chested Rikkar, the smith, gave Neea a wink and a grin that made her cheeks flush crimson. Ever the loyal apprentice that he was, Pim pretended not to notice.
Soon they had left Forsbyr behind. Outside of town the road wound like a snake from one bend to the next. Rocky and gray, it had been carved from the side of the mountain, and its edges were lined with great pines and firs that stood guard over it like towering sentinels. Occasionally they were greeted by the pleasant song of red-breasted robins that flittered from branch to branch, or a hurried shuffling of leaves on the forest floor as a squirrel scurried out of sight. When they came to a small stone bridge, they paused to watch a stream that had tumbled down the mountain to dance below their feet.
“I know it must seem to you that the Scholars' Guild has sent us to the middle of nowhere. But when you stop to look around, don’t you think, Pim, that we’ve found ourselves in the most beautiful place in all the seven steads?”
The boy shrugged. The pale sunlight glimmered through the woods and glistened on the stream as it chattered and bubbled.
“I do like all the mountains and the trees,” he answered. “But I miss my home. And out here isn’t as exciting as a city. I wish they’d sent us to Mailenskord. Or even perhaps to Queen Suuvi’s court in Hakkonvik!”
Neea laughed.
“Oh, there’s excitement here, Pim. It just looks a bit different from the kind you’d find in the city. Far less plotting and politics and far more—adventure! The world out here is so vast, so full of wonder, and I’m sure in time you’ll come to love it. Now, I think we should head on. The sky is looking grayer than it was.”
And indeed, the weather was starting to take a turn. Blue sky gave way to a pall of gray clouds, and soon a soft but steady stream of snow flurries began to drift through the air. They kept along the road for another couple of miles, not once seeing another soul, until at last they came upon a wooden signpost, worn and weather-beaten, that marked the path to Fjallmark. It was no more than a narrow track, wide enough only to allow a horse and a rider, but no cart, and the snow had been falling long enough now that it was already partially covered.
“Let’s break here for lunch,” Neea said.
She dusted off a thin layer of snow that had settled on a fallen tree and sat down. Pim removed his pack and sat beside her, handing her an apple and her water skin and a small hunk of cheese.
“Have you been to Fjallmark before?” he asked her. “Since you lived in Forsbyr when you were a girl?”
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“No. I never had reason to go up there. I mostly stayed around the village. Though our old Scholar, Master Timmond, did take me around the woods a bit. He taught me the names of the trees and flowers and roots and how to use them. He showed me how to pick out hidden nests and burrows and how to read the tracks of wolves and cave bears and mountain cats. But,” Neea grinned, her eyes brimming with delight. “The most fascinating things he taught me were the tales and legends of this place, many older than the seven steads themselves. Stories of creatures and spirits and magic that the Sogni tribes believe to this day. Trolls that stalk the mountain passes. Men who can change their skins so that they may look like us one day and wild beasts the next. Caverns deep underground where creatures dwell that cannot abide the light of day.”
Pim’s eyes widened as she spoke.
“But you don’t believe all those things,” he said. “They’re only stories. Superstition.”
Neea looked at his worried face and remembered that he was just a boy, ten winters old, and that they were in the middle of the wild woods and far from the safety of his family and the only home he’d ever known.
“Not to worry, Pim,” she reassured him. “I’ve spent a lot of time in the woods and haven’t yet seen any truth to the stories, though deep down I wish I had. And if I thought the journey wasn’t safe, I’d have left you back at the inn. But we really should start packing up now. This snow’s not letting up and we’ve still got some miles to go before we get there.”
image [https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/54014669779_37d0034bb0_h.jpg]
And, she thought to herself, she hadn’t prepared for snowfall. The peaceful blue sky of the morning had deceived her. They would need to find shelter, and quick, if the weather worsened. She smiled at the boy beside her, hoping that her worries didn’t show through.
But as they trekked on, the clouds darkened to a deeper shade of gray. And the snow no longer fell as soft flakes that dallied through the air, but as frozen pellets anxious to reach the ground. They tightened their caps and raised their cowls over their faces. They were only halfway there, and the snow had fallen hard enough that the track was completely covered. For now, at least, Neea could still see clearly enough to make out where they needed to go.
They trudged slowly along, heads bowed low against the wind. It was all they heard now. Long gone were the joyful trills and chirrups of the forest birds, and all the small animals were tucked away safe and sound in their warm burrows.
Neea glanced at her young apprentice, his cloak pulled tight around him, snow clinging to the dark wool. She should never have brought him. She hadn’t known the weather would shift as it did, but she should have known better. She thought the journey might open his eyes to the wild beauty of his new home, as her treks with Master Timmond had done for her. But he was so young, and more used to the comfort of stately stone houses and the safety brought by city walls. Not winter storms in the untamed forests of the north. Not the…
They stopped in their tracks as a chorus of sonorous howls pierced the air.
“Master Neea. Wolves!”
He reached for her arm and she held him close.
“It will be alright, Pim. That was far off in the distance. But we must press on. We’re only a few hours more, but we must go on. And of course,” she patted the crossbow she held. “We always have this for protection.”
They continued on. No more howls rang through the forest, but soon Neea began to notice signs of something just as dangerous. Here and there she spotted a tree whose bark had been stripped away in parts. Some had the appearance of having been bitten, while others showed the markings of claws that had scraped at the trunk. One tree even had a tuft of fur caught on it. She rubbed it between her fingers as Pim looked on.
“It’s the fur of a cave bear,” she explained. “They bite and scratch and rub against the trees to mark their territory. This fur is fresh. The sun has had no time to fade it. But at this time of year, the bears should already be asleep. Keep an eye out as we walk.”
image [https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/54014770335_f3e10e49f9_h.jpg]
Pim nodded and looked about warily. She could feel the fear exuding from him, and could read his thoughts as clearly as her own. He was afraid of what they might find—a pack of ravenous wolves, or a bear so feral that it stalked the woods for prey while the rest of its kin were asleep. She sighed. She had hoped so much that he would grow to love his new home, but the way this journey was turning out, he was sure to return to Mailenskord as soon as the Scholars' Guild allowed it.
They had not made it much farther before the wind began to bellow with such fury that the tall firs and pines trembled like wispy water reeds. It blustered and roared, louder than a rushing river, and lashed at the two travelers, whipping up the snow to gnaw and bite at their eyes. But even worse, it heaped snow on the ground so quickly that it was soon blanketed in a thick layer of white, and Neea could no longer see the path ahead.
The weather had truly caught her off guard. How could she not have read it? She looked at her charge, regretting how foolish she’d been to take the boy along. She could never forgive herself if anything happened to him.
“Pim,” she called out, her muffled voice fighting against the wind. “We must find shelter. Stay close beside me and keep an eye out for any sort of cave or crevice in the mountain.”
The snow was swirling about them now and it was hard to see, but they could make out the rocky base of the mountains not too far ahead. They trudged along, fighting against the wintry onslaught. Thick as their boots were, they couldn’t completely keep the wet and cold of the snow at bay, and it began to seep through and numb their toes.
They searched the mountainside for any cleft or opening, but they were unsuccessful. And just when Neea had begun to lose hope of ever finding shelter, Pim grabbed her arm and pointed.
“A cave, Master Neea! Look!”
She craned her neck to see. There, a short ways ahead, was a cave just as he had said.
“We must approach it carefully,” she instructed. “There’s no telling if a cave bear or a mountain cat has made it its home.”
She held her crossbow in front of her and walked with slow, steady steps. A small orange light shone at the entrance, and as she neared, she saw the light came from a pair of torches that burned in sconces at the opening. Though she felt relieved at the thought of a refuge from the battering wind and snow, a fear overtook her that they had perhaps stumbled upon some hideout used by brigands. But retreating was not an option, for the snowstorm meant a sure death if they hesitated much longer.