I no longer knew how many weeks or months I had spent traveling the Great Ice Plain. The days had finally blended together, and I did not care to track them anymore. Neither anxiety nor despair overtook me so much as a certain numbness. It was as if I had been waiting for something, some turn of fate, some portent, some judgement of a higher power—something.

It is hard to wait for things to properly arrive in their due time, especially if it is something terrible. Men would often rather throw themselves off a cliff today than await a lesser punishment tomorrow. Many a man’s destruction came because he could not bring himself to do the most awful of things—to sit still.

But then there is also the man who dallies, who never seems to catch up with the day, no matter how much time he is afforded. Just as there is a man who would destroy himself because he was told no, there is equally the man who would cry and rend his garments because someone told him yes. This man sits paralyzed in the face of action, or perhaps destiny, because he lacks the stomach for it.

Patience then, I think, is the middle between these two things, of knowing the moment, and knowing when to seize it.

And like a man awaking from a half-forgotten dream, I was shaken from my stupor when I saw a brilliant flash of red light rise up into the sky. It was so far and distant that I wondered whether it was some trick of the eye. But no, I saw a red beam rise on the horizon and then vanish.

I could’ve chosen to ignore it and continued on my way, but I felt some import from this sign—whatever it may have been. I turned my ice skimmer towards it and set off as fast as I could.

One thing a man quickly learns on the Great Ice Plain is an appreciation of vast distance. I shall spare you the length it took me to reach my destination, though it did nearly take me half a day. I wish I could adequately put into words how much time I have spent over the endless ice, for people never really understand what endless means.

Nevertheless, across the frigid wind and snow, I raced on my ice skimmer as fast as it would go. And as the sun drew high into the firmament, I spotted my quarry ahead.

There was a wide crater sloping down deep into the ice where the water had collected back into a sizable pond. Though I had not seen it before, I knew this was the crater left behind when someone overloaded a spear drill. And I was not surprised, when I saw just beyond, was the wreckage of an ice skimmer.

I saw there was a deep gash in its hull, and the two struts required to keep the ship aloft were missing. The vessel had scorch marks on it like a fire had been set onboard. Where the sails had not been burnt, they had been ripped apart by the long cuts of knives. They hung tattered from the mast, a most dreadful flag, especially with what was hanging from the rigging.

Two corpses swayed high in the wind. They were hung from nooses, but they were oddly lashed to the mast as well. As if it was not enough to merely hang someone, they needed to be secured up high. In any case, they wore the furred garb of tribesmen, and their corpses seemed fresh enough. Whatever happened here, happened within the past few days, at least.

I quickly set aside all rumination when I spotted one man sitting against the hull of the ice skimmer. He too, looked to be a tribesman, but he had been particularly savaged. Cuts and blood ran along his entire body, and his right hand had been cut off, a bandaged stump where it should’ve been. I could’ve mistaken him for yet another corpse, and yet as I dismounted my ice skimmer and approached, I noticed the haggard rise and fall of his chest.

He was of greying hair and a sun worn face. He had a square jaw and heavy set features, which were as bestial as they were noble in countenance. This was a face long accustomed to a snarl, yet rarely felt the need to do so. I could easily imagine I was looking upon a wolf turned man.

Running over to him, I crouched and gently patted his arm, trying to wake him. His eyes slowly fluttered open, and he tried to rise to address me.

I grasped him by the shoulder and gently made him sit. “Do not waste your strength. You are in the presence of a friend. What happened here?”

“Water,” the man’s parched lips whispered.

I quickly took my flagon and held it to his mouth. I tipped it, and the man drank for some time until I had to take it away for worry he might get sick.

Looking at where his right hand should be, I realized it had bandaged very poorly, with strips torn from his clothes. The wound was crusted and dried with blood, but thankfully, it was no longer bleeding.

“The Pétras, the Men of Black Stone. They attacked us.” The man rasped with as much strength as he could muster.

I knew that was their phrase for the cannibals, the dread things of the blasphemous obelisk. A chill ran up my spine.

The man struggled with another breath. “We thought these lands were safe. I’ve not heard of them venturing on the Great Ice Plain in generations.”

He tried to get up again, but I restrained him.

“Rest,” I said. “Gather your strength.”

Truthfully, I did not know whether he was going to live at all. But I knew too much exertion could very well kill him anyway.

“You do not understand!” The man gasped in between fits of pain. “We… have to leave. The Ghost Men are coming!”

I glanced at the two corpses above in horror, realizing some part of what had happened. I stepped away from the ice skimmer and looked around at the horizon, seeking some trace of what was coming. In the far distance to the west, there seemed to be the dark swell of a storm. It was little more than the breath of a foul wind, but I knew the things that walked within it. I stared for a moment in horror at what was hidden behind those dark clouds before I turned back and ran for the injured tribesman.

Taking his arm over my shoulder, I dragged him to my ice skimmer and threw him on board. Quickly sprinting back to the wreckage, I jumped onto the battered hull and searched the vessel for anything valuable.

The food stores had all been ravaged, not taken. They seemed to have undergone a strange putrefaction, changed into a black, viscous fluid with rotting chunks inside. I tossed them away, but I found spare tools and equipment and several fishing lines that I carried back to my ship. In a little under ten minutes, we were off again, and I pushed the ice skimmer as fast as it would flee from the cursed place.

“What is your course?” The injured tribesman groaned in pain as he sat opposite of me in the ice skimmer. He seemed confused, as if I had taken the wrong direction.

“To get away,” I said. “Then I shall search for another to take care of you. I have business south in Myz.”

“No!” He cried out and tried to rise to his feet, but he was too weak and sank back down against the railing of the ice skimmer. “It will take weeks to find anyone, and then it will be too late.”

“Too late for what?” I asked, glancing back. The wreckage was now a speck on the horizon, and it still felt entirely too close.

“For my kin!” the man shouted. “There are at least thirty in my party still alive! The Pétras are going to eat them!”

“I am sorry, but I do not know how to find them.”

The tribesmen looked at me as if I said something entirely stupid. He pointed with his left hand towards the ice, though I could not tell what exactly. “There!” he shouted. “Can you not track the skimmers? Can you not see the snow drift?”

“I cannot,” I responded, trying to assuage the man’s temper. “And even if I could, I am but one man. I cannot help them.”

The tribesmen’s face contorted, like I said something both incomprehensible and taboo. “Who are you?” he demanded, finally paying me real scrutiny.

“I am Sirius of the School of Astronomers. I am undertaking a pilgrimage to Calrathia.”

“Then you speak your cowardice out of ignorance,” the tribesmen grated his teeth in anger. “I shall overlook it. But allow me to teach you the law of this land. No man is left to the Pétras.” His voice shook with such hatred and indignity that I knew this went much farther than mere concern for the lives of his kin.

Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.

“Do you know what they will do, foreigner?” The tribesman spat.

I shook my head.

“The weak will be eaten. And the strong will be broken to be like them.” The tribesmen fought to contain his fury, for he knew I was his only hope. “Will you stand by and do nothing?” The man accused me.

His face was coated in dried blood. It was gaunt and pallid from exposure. Every word must’ve been painful for his bleeding and cracked lips. And the pain must’ve been indescribable from the stump where his hand used to be. But despite these awful disfigurements, there was a nobility in his poise that told me this was an honorable man who would do anything to help his people.

I had no doubt that if my answer had been no, he would’ve jumped off right there to go after the cannibals on foot, no matter how suicidal that might’ve been. My heart was immediately moved, and I found I could not deny such a righteous cause.

“Very well,” I said, unsheathing my newly hewn short sword, “I am a stranger to these lands, but I shall swear you this. We shall go after them, and I shall go to death to release your people.”

The tribesmen looked at me with widened eyes, as if he had not expected a foreigner to abide by such laws. But he nodded with a grim determination, and perhaps some respect.

“My name is Odoacer, Astronomer,” the tribesman said, making a gesture with his remaining hand to his forehead.

“Well met,” I said. “I do not know how much strength is within you, but I tell you truly I do not know how to track an ice skimmer. I’ll need your eyes if we are to catch up.”

Odoacer nodded and scanned the horizon. Finally, he pointed southeast. “Go there. See how the snow drifts just slightly apart from the wind. Follow that trail for as long as it goes. Do not stop for nightfall. We must travel as fast as we can if we have any hope of catching them.”

I turned the ice skimmer where he pointed, and although I had much difficulty following where he pointed, I gradually began to see what he meant. I learned then that ice skimmers leave a disturbance in the air as they pass by, an aftereffect of the exotic metal that holds them in the air. While the wind blew the powdery snow one way, the path the ice skimmers had taken was confused and gathered up in perplexing gusts. It would’ve been easily missed by the untrained eye, but as soon as one knew what to look for, it became a path to follow.

I was grateful then that the cannibals had departed in a straight course, obviously unworried of who would find their trail. Had they attempted to disguise their direction by swerving their ice skimmers in rapid turns, it would’ve been nearly impossible to follow them. As it was, I set my course as fast as I could.

Odoacer helped himself to more of my food and water, and I did not begrudge him for it. He settled for sleep soon after, and while I would’ve liked to ask him more questions, I knew the man was in dire need of rest. Instead, I contented myself with my own thoughts of this sudden turn of events.

Some might question my judgement, pledging my life to this cause and that, and to do it so recklessly. But I have found life is to be lived passionately or not at all. My oath to deliver the tome to Calrathia did not preclude me from dying along the way—in fact, that was much the point. And if I happened to find a more honorable end, then I felt no displeasure in it.

It was strange. Knowing that I was to die liberated me to do what others deemed impossible or insane. I had no attachment nor care, and thus I could go wherever I wished. And I think it is only those few who know they are to die who can accomplish that which others deem madness. And it was that thought which comforted me most in the dying sunlight.

…

I lost count of the hours, but it was deep into the night. The skimmer raced across the moonlit plain, a world of ice and night. My eyes couldn’t track the subtle snow drift in the dark, and neither could Odoacer’s. We had to hope that we had not drifted too far off course. We buried ourselves in furs, and even still we were both shivering, covered in frost and flecks of ice.

I had locked the rudder in place. There was nothing to do but wait and suffer, and hope, that we would catch up to our quarry.

Holding the Bene Tincture in my hand, I now considered my choice. With such a grievous wound, Odoacer would need the rest of what I had left. So even if I were to survive this encounter, I would no longer have a remedy for when I travelled to Myz. And yet, to not administer it to him was foolish. We were going to be facing the cannibals, and a one-handed man on death’s door would not be of any use.

Part of me was glad I would no longer suffer under Bene’s excruciations. But at the same time, I lost something as well. I felt as though I was losing some protection, and whatever happened next, it would be far from the sight of the Potentate.

Taking a deep breath, I crossed the deck of the ice skimmer to where Odoacer sat huddled. The man seemed barely alive. He was not regaining strength in the cold, quite the opposite. But despite his weakness, there was enough left in him to talk lucidly.

Odoacer’s eyes glanced confused at me when I held up the red vial.

“I have means of which to return your strength and your hand.”

“Why do you mention this now?” He rasped, sensing the weight with which I spoke.

I hesitated. “Because it will cause you great pain, and because it is the last of the substance I have left.”

Odoacer looked at the red vial, then turned away, throwing his back to me. “I am not interested in sorcery.” I barely heard his weak voice over the biting wind.

“It is neither sorcery nor magic!” I knelt at his feet, thrusting the vial in his face. “The Bene Tincture is not some potion brewed by witches! On Ultor, I have visited the shrine myself. It is not merely the work of men. It is a gift of the Potentate, who alone commands the authority to restore a man.”

“I have seen many make such claims.” Odoacer coughed. “I have seen merchants selling all sorts of oils and powders promising healing and good fortune. I have seen men die from their poisons. With what proof do you stake on this Tincture?”

Indeed, I saw the severity on his face. I sensed he had not just seen men die, but close friends. I knew the pain of scandal well, and I knew how difficult it was to trust after.

I wish I had had more of the Tincture to imbibe and prove its effects to Odoacer, but then there would not be enough for him. All I could was rely on was his faith in me. “As a man who shall fight and die alongside you, that is what I stake. We are brothers in arms now, and we shall place our lives in each other’s hands before this night done. Know that I would rather you healed than a cripple.”

Odoacer’s suspicion had not fully left him, even as I agreed to chase after the cannibals. Despite all that I had done, perhaps he feared I would cower at the last moment, or perhaps he was waiting for some trick, for myself to reveal hidden treacherous intentions.

But as one desperate man to another, we knew the terrible odds against us, and there was no cowardice nor betrayal hidden in our pact.

Odoacer nodded solemnly, and he drank of the vial.

…

Another few hours passed, and I watched Odoacer finally regain himself. He had fallen on the deck of the ice skimmer, and I knew there was no point in restraining him. There was no recourse except to let the suffering play out. But once it did, the man trembled, holding his returned hand as if the Potentate himself had healed it.

Odoacer looked up at me with wide eyes. “You are a man who works miracles, Sirius.” His voice carried a newfound awe.

I extended a hand to help him up. “Do not give me any credit. It was the power of the Tincture that healed you so. I merely administered it.”

He took my hand, and I helped Odoacer back to his feet. Of us two, I was now the more weary in the blistering wind. It was my turn to stumble over and huddle in furs while Odoacer adjusted the rudder. It seemed his spirit had been returned to him as well. Odoacer had seemed half-dead, now he looked at the horizon with newfound courage.

Long minutes passed, and I looked out into the darkness, praying to see anything.

“Do you have any idea how close we are now?” I asked the tribesmen.

Odoacer scanned his eyes on the dark horizon, looking for any signs of life. “They’ll have been slowed greatly with their captives. Hopefully, we are not far now.”

“I did mean to ask, what happened back at your ice skimmer? Why were two men strung up on the mast?”

Odoacer gave me a haunted look. “The cannibals always string up the chiefs and leaders. They’re tortured and left to die to the elements, but the knots are fashioned in a way that one may hang themselves if they tug on the rope. It is an offering to the Ghost Men, though I do not know whether those creatures can even understand it as such.”

I hesitated to ask, but Odoacer saw the question on my tongue. “Two days,” he answered. “My kinsmen gave up on the first nightfall. I managed to get my remaining hand free and cut myself out with a knife I had hidden in my boot.”

I nodded, piecing together the rest of the awful story in my head.

“And what is your story?” Odoacer asked. “Pilgrims have not made the journey to Calrathia in many lifetimes. What madness possessed you to come here?”

“I am in exile,” I answered, tired and not wishing to discuss it further.

Odoacer thought for moment. “You should know you are the second one I’ve met traveling to Myz. These are strange times upon the Great Ice Plain. Even among the adventurers and the foolish, very few dare to cross the mountains into the Barren Lands.”

I turned to him. “Who was the second one?”

“Before we were ambushed, my people were hired by a woman insistent on traveling to the Barren Lands. We agreed to take her to the foot of the mountains. That was why we were so far south. Perhaps she is still alive. I do not know.” Odoacer stared into the night.

“And how far away are the mountains now?” I asked, more interested in my cause than some odd stranger. “It has been a long journey, and I am hoping I’m reaching the end.”

Odoacer barked out a laugh. “You expect to survive this? I was amazed when you swore your oath, but now I’m even more so. I have seen you are not a fool, and yet you speak with the audacity of one.”

“Nothing has killed me thus far,” I flatly responded.

The tribesmen eyed me, amused with black humor. “I have good news for you, then. The cursed place is no more than a week’s travel.”

I sucked in a deep breath. So the time was nearly upon me. Once this was over, I would be soon crossing from the realm of men into the realm of monsters.

The tribesmen straightened as he looked into the distance. My unskilled eyes took another minute to see what he had noticed. There were twinkling embers of orange on the horizon. They should’ve been warm, comforting lights. But we both knew who made them.

“They are bold,” Odoacer breathed. “They think they have no enemies who would challenge them.”

I once again sized both of us up. We had no proper sword between us, and while we were two strong men, we were only two men. If I were the cannibals, I would not have much reason for fear. But we had the advantage of surprise—and an iron resolve.

Turning the ice skimmer towards the lights, Odoacer beckoned us forward to the unnameable. I suddenly found it difficult to breathe. For in the next few hours, I would finally meet some of the denizens of Myz.

And if the Potentate was on our side, we would slaughter them all.