Odoacer repaid me three-fold as we made the final crossing to the mountains of Myz. The first was replenishing my supplies. Not only was I given more food than I had previously, the tribesmen taught me a special way of preparing fish so that the meat does not spoil for many days. Wrapping my meals in cured fish-skin, I stored them in my knapsack, which would have to suffice instead of my ice skimmer. Thanks to their help, I expected to make double the distance before I ran out of rations.

While I had already brought survival equipment, the tribesmen were also quick to shower me with their superior tools. For climbing, I had passable ice axes that were quietly scoffed at for being “made from the city”. I was presented with two which were both smaller and had curved shafts with an inverted ice pick. They were significantly lighter in my hands, and I noticed the steel was lighter in color. I was told the alloy was scavenged from the ruins of Myz and subsequently forged with the help of people closer to the coast.

The tribesmen also had their own crampons. While the people of Terminus had given me a pair, there had been no way I could remove them from the boots they came on, and I had expected to carry a set of heavy spares on my back. However, the tribesmen had developed a set that could be adjusted and could be taken on or off at ease. Fastening the spiky metal plates to my soles, I found they were much more comfortable as well.

I could go on and on. I was fitted with better furs which were both lighter and repelled water. I was given flagons which would warm up when shook, serving both to melt collected snow and as an emergency heat source. I was presented with a set of snow shoes, though these I refused as I had no difficulty walking on such surfaces. My Astronomer’s training had taught me to be able to displace my weight on even fragile glass.

The tribesmen were quite impressed when I showed them I could walk on a snowbank with ease, only leaving a small shadow of a footprint behind. I was begged to show them the technique, but I replied that it would take many years to master, and one had to start quite young.

There was much talk and good cheer as the small fleet of ice skimmers approached Myz, perhaps the first time that has happened with anyone venturing into the Barren Lands. The intervening days I spent resting, letting the tribesmen take up the task of sailing my skimmer.

Odoacer repaid a second time by offering to show a mountain pass his people had long known. It eased my mind greatly that I would not have to worry about improvising a treacherous route through the mountains, and the peace of mind it brought was a gift of its own. It allowed me to enjoy the time I had left.

As I recuperated, I spent much of my time with Berenice. During those final days, we enjoyed each other’s company as much as we dared. Were there words we so desperately wished to say? Were there thoughts forbidden but tempting to the tongue? I don’t think any man has been secure from his own heart. However, I will say never uttered those words, and more thankfully, Berenice never tried to sway my mind.

That was her gift. And of everything she had done, I knew it was the hardest.

It was on the fourth morning that I thought I had spotted the tips of the mountains in the distance, but Odoacer informed me that they were merely the cairns that marked the last leg of the journey. I was confused, but as I saw, these shapes resolved into spires far too thin to be called mountainous, though still indisputably large.

The tribesmen knew them as markers of a sort, but I immediately recognized them for what they were. Great ancient ships sat in their berths, their bows pointed aimless at the sky. They were older than the ones at Terminus, their hermetically sealed hulls clearly meant for the empty sea. The vessels were all held in place by titanic scaffolds long used over.

There were hundreds—no thousands of these spires scattered around us. Some were empty but most were not. Many had collapsed, many had frozen over, but a few of these vessels seemed as if their great furnaces could still ignite, carrying their broken wings into the heavens.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

There have been few times in my life when silence was painful on my ears, and it was not the first instance I had encountered such graveyards. And yet, this place opened a hole in my heart, much more so than the ones at the Border Wall. These ships belonged to my vocation, to men who had not been so different than I.

Seeing their silent headstones made me wonder if this truly was the fate of my profession, that men would one day lose the wings which carried them to distant lands. And if so, what should become of us, eternally separated by the black gulfs? Alone and lost, until one-by-one, every voice fell quiet and every land was filled with the wreckage of man’s dream.

I had no answer, except I hoped against all hope that it wouldn’t come to that. That the Potentate would break his silence, and save Man from his own destruction.

It was the fifth day we finally spotted the mountains, and by the seventh, we approached the rolling foothills which climbed into peaks that touched the sky itself. The icy land around us was scattered with ruin. And here, the ice skimmers could take us no farther.

The terrain had become progressively more difficult, not only with steepening rock faces, but also the jagged remains of thoroughfares and ancient architecture, foreign in look and design. I saw trees of twisting metal, made with octagonal branches and cabled vines. I saw rivers frozen in their viaducts, spilling out onto the ground below. I saw long thickets of automotors and the occasional flier. Foundations and heaps of stacked rubble littered the rough landscape like stones cast upon a pond, and I saw much more that I do not have the words to describe.

It was all so disorganized and eroded by the passage of time, that their purpose was long lost. All around was a half-forgotten memory of the people who had once lived here. The land itself looked as though it were straining to remember a distant time, and like an old man, it could no longer correlate the contents of its own mind.

We stopped at the base of a foothill. Its craggy and icy height was disheartenedly small compared to the expanse of ice and stone ahead. But there was no choice but to go further on foot. The tribesmen gathered around to see me off. Odoacer made a gesture to his a forehead as did they all, personally giving me farewells and wishing me luck. Berenice and I embraced for one last time, though we had no special parting words.

There was nothing left that we had not said a thousand times on our short journey here. I hefted Caliburn onto my back, and there we stood, neither of us wishing to be the one departing first. Finally, it was Berenice who pointed onwards to Myz.

I smiled, summoning the strength to turn and walk away. There was much shouting and last farewells, though I did not look back as I ascended the icy slope. I continued until those voices became distant, and then I could hear them no longer.

With each step, I grew closer to my Calrathia, and with each step, I grew farther from Berenice. This time I did not let such despair weigh me down. I swore an oath, two now. And I had no intention of betraying either.

I patted my satchel. Odoacer’s final was a map. He informed me his people had launched expeditions into the Barren Lands for many centuries. While this meant much of the closer lands were stripped for whatever they were worth, it also happened that tribesmen had set hidden caches as they ventured further and further in. Of these food stores, Odoacer drew me a crude map of the ones he knew about.

I could follow these caches for a long distance, extending my chances of making it to Calrathia. Of course, there was no guarantee such supplies were still there, or if another tribesmen party had already used them up, but they were far better than nothing. That was his third repayment, a hope of crossing the Barren Land alive.

It was only once that I came to the round peak of that small foothill did I at last allow myself to look back. The ice skimmers were already long on their way, little more than specks on the icy horizon. I watched them for a few minutes until I could see them no longer.

It is a said a man’s life has a thousand endings, and so he must choose where to end very carefully. So it is here I shall put my quill to rest until it is time to pick up the page again. Of Berenice, that was the last I saw of her. Though in my heartbreak, I came to realize that such goodbyes are the fate of all men who tie themselves to a woman.

Of such bonds, they seal themselves in life and so with tragedy. Till death shall we depart, I hear them say. And it comes at death that everything is put asunder. The bond is split in twain, the knot severed, and none of it shall ever be the same again. Such is the fate of those who stake everything in this life. Death and depart and goodbye.

But for us, Berenice, it is death till we shall meet again.