There was a brilliant glow in the northwest, despite the dark clouds that covered the moons. Noshi squinted into the freezing wind and shouted through his woolen mask for his dogs to pull the sled faster. The shout did no good, of course, but it made Noshi feel a bit better. He could hear similar useless shouts coming from Sungnan’s sled on his left and Bejo’s on his right. Something was spooking the dogs. Even though they ran as commanded, they acted skittish. Noshi could feel it too; it was as if something strange, something heavy were in the air.
The Hahnin traders knew that the bright glow they were headed toward was not a fire. There wasn’t anything that burned in the Frozen Waste besides seal blubber. And it was the wrong time of year for the Lights of the Vessel which, at their best, lit the sky dimly, casting only a pale blue-green gleam on the flat, frozen ground. The glow before them was orange and bright enough to be seen for lis around. Bright enough to give light to the sharp eyes of the sled dogs, otherwise none of the traders would have made this trip. Whatever it was, it stank — there was the strong smell of an untended garbage dump that overpowered the familiar stink of furs and dogs. The stench got stronger the farther north they went.
None of these conditions promised good fortune and Noshi was uncomfortable with the journey Bejo had forced upon him and his brother. Bejo had argued that there was almost certainly profit to be made by investigating the bizarre light, and all of their families could use more profit. Profit or no, Noshi continued to feel the unpleasant heaviness in the air – air that should have been bitterly cold, but for some reason had none of the sting of the arctic winds he was used to. Something was very wrong.
The dogs yelped in terror and Noshi felt himself flying. Water was over Noshi’s head before he realized he was sinking. Years of conditioning kept him from breathing in freezing waters, but his heavy furs and woolen underwear threatened to drag him down to the bottom of the frozen sea. He thrashed about, trying to stay near the surface and rip off his furs at the same time. After what seemed like hours, he succeeded and fought his way towards the air.
His lungs should have burned with a cold fire as he gasped in the freezing night air, but they didn’t. Warm air came easily down his throat, but nearly gagged him with its stench. Noshi opened his eyes and looked frantically around for his companions and his dogs. The water, he realized as he searched, wasn’t a bit cold. There were bits of dark things floating in the black liquid and he wondered if he’d blindly tumbled into that rotting garbage dump he’d smelled.
As he bobbed about in the dark pool, Noshi saw Bejo standing by the water’s edge near his sled, a stunned look in his flat eyes. Sungnan was nowhere to be found. Noshi also saw nothing of his own dogs or sled and came to the sad conclusion that the one had probably dragged the others to their deaths.
“Saram sallyo!” Noshi called to Bejo in the ancient way: Save me! Bejo blinked steadily without moving. Noshi had to repeat the call four times before his friend came to his senses and threw a rope into the too-warm water. In a few moments, Noshi was standing on solid ice again, dressed only in soaking underwear, shivering in a wind that was cold, but not nearly as cold as it should have been.
“Sungnan?” Noshi asked quietly. Bejo dropped his eyes and shook his head slowly, as if in a daze. He should have felt unbearable sadness at the loss of his only brother, but Noshi was numb and confused. Suddenly, though, he got angry. He grabbed Bejo by the front of his furs and shook him harshly.
“What’s the matter with you?” Noshi demanded through chattering teeth. “I could have died out there along with my brother and you wouldn’t have noticed! Give me some dry furs before I freeze to death!”
“Look,” said his friend, pointing northward with a trembling finger, oblivious of Noshi's anger. Noshi turned and gasped.
A lone mountain stood in the Frozen Waste where there had been no mountain the day before. It was tall and black and perfectly cone-shaped. The glow the Traders had been following was coming from the summit of the mountain: an intensely bright, liquid light which flowed in burning streams down the mountain and onto the ice flats. Where the light met the ice, enormous clouds billowed noisily — clouds that had hidden the mountain from sight until they were right on top of it. In fact, there was no ice at the base of the mountain, but lis and lis of liquid water. This impossible mountain was at the center of an impossible lake.
“No profit to be made on this trip,” Noshi lamented. “Only loss and sadness. Come, let’s go home. Quickly, before the ice under us gives way or this stink sickens me.”
“If it is profit you are seeking, Noble Traders, I offer help.”
Both traders screamed and whirled toward the voice from the darkness. Bejo shakily pulled his long bone knife. “Show yourself!” he demanded, though his voice held more fear than command.
“Of course, Great Ones.”
A figure emerged from the blackness into the orange glow of the magical mountain behind them. He was tall and white-skinned and appeared to be a Glishman. He was dressed in nothing more than a loose white shirt and billowing britches of the same wispy white material, yet he seemed to be warm enough. On his head, he wore a close-fitting hat, a dome of dull, silvery metal.
“Be at peace, Children of the Noble Race. I am your friend,” the man said in perfect Hahno. Noshi had met Glishmen who could speak Hahno, but not like this; this man spoke in a very ancient dialect that was now used only when recounting the myths.
“Stop where you are!” Bejo barked, brandishing his knife, more firmly now. The Glishman complied with a formal bow. Bejo’s sled dogs, who had been nervously yapping up until now, suddenly fell completely silent. Several of them sat stiffly and correctly on their haunches, as if commanded to do so. Noshi felt sick to his stomach, and not because of the horrid stink in the air. “What do you want with us?” his friend demanded of the newcomer.
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“Only to help you, Exalted Children of Hahn.” His voice was pleasant and he used very high honorifics on the two traders. Somehow, despite these horrible circumstances, his voice comforted Noshi and, strangely, made him feel important.
“How?” asked Bejo, his knife now lowered to his side.
“I am a humble trader, like yourselves, though my efforts are sadly lacking compared to yours.” Noshi's eyes narrowed and he threw a suspicious look at Bejo. Who had ever heard of a Glishman trader? “I was traveling across the Waste to Glish with a load of precious gems when my caravan ran across this cursed lake. I seem to be the only survivor of our ordeal and I would certainly have frozen to death if not for the warmth of yon fire mountain. I submissively petition your noble help and ask humbly if you would allow me the pleasure of riding with you on your return home.”
“Why should we trust you?” asked Noshi, finally finding his voice.
“Trust has nothing to do with it, Honorable Trader.” The Glishman produced a pack he’d been carrying on his back and opened it. “I shall willingly give you my entire supply of gems in return for this undeserved favor.” Turning the pack over, he spilled the contents on the ice: a dozen fist-sized crystals, some smooth and round, others jagged and glistening, each glowing with its own color. They looked nothing like any of the gems or Crystals the traders had ever seen. Instinctively, they moved forward to get a better look.
“Please, handle them. Feel the quality of the gems for yourselves.” The Glishman picked up a smooth, red-colored crystal ball and tossed it at Noshi who caught it without thinking. Instantly, he was paralyzed — totally unable to move or talk. Yet, he did move. He could feel his body moving, standing up straight and gazing out at the others with a demeaning look, but he had no control over the movements at all.
“This one has not been Endowed,” said Noshi’s voice in a language Noshi had never heard before, but somehow understood. “Verbal communication will be necessary.”
“As you wish, Master,” said the Glishman in the same strange language.
“What did you say, Noshi?” Bejo asked in Hahno, still looking at the gem in his friend’s hands. “It is a ruby? It doesn't look like one of the Light Crystals.”
Noshi felt himself caress his own hands, face, arms and legs. “Yes, a perfect package to transport me to my new home.”
“Noshi?” Bejo’s face was turning white and there was fear in his eyes as he looked at his friend. His hands began trembling again. “Noshi, what’s wrong? I don’t understand what you’re saying.”
“Dispose of this one, Valen,” said Noshi’s voice in the new tongue. “He annoys me, and I’m sure the Budmother is still hungry.”
“As you command, Nilrem,” said the Glishman in the same, strange language.
“What is going on?” asked Bejo, raising his shaky knife again. “What are you two saying?”
“Nothing that concerns you, food,” said the Glishman in the lowest, most insulting Hahno possible. He pointed a finger at Bejo and an unseen force lifted the trader high in the air and pushed him over the water of the magical lake. Neither Noshi nor the Glishman blinked an eye when a tentacle, blacker than night and thicker than a man’s waste shot out of the water and wrapped its gleaming length around Bejo’s screaming, thrashing body. A second tentacle emerged slowly from the dark waters, snaking its way to the trader as he watched, unable to do anything but shriek, as it grabbed his legs and pulled him in half, spilling a dark shower of blood into the roiling waters below. A wave of the putrid stench swept over Noshi; the being who was controlling his movements covered Noshi’s mouth and nose. Bejo was pulled beneath the waters so quickly that he seemed to simply vanish in a cloud of spray and a clap of thunder.
“Don’t feed the dogs to her,” said Nilrem in Noshi’s voice. “I require them, for the time being. You remain here and supervise the construction of the Fortress. Give the other Incarnates to me.” Valen bowed, replaced the strange gems in the pack. He then handed the pack over to Noshi’s body, which took it and slung it over his back.
“I despise this spoken language,” snarled Valen. “It is so slow and imprecise. How shall we know when you are settled?”
“It is not your concern!” Noshi’s voice snapped. “Finish the Fortress. I shall send sustenance for the Budmother. The mind of this one holds the memory of a village south of here that should do nicely for food stock. Once she is strong enough, her children will be able to feed her by themselves — and serve us.” Noshi’s lips curled in a wicked grin.
“As you wish, Nilrem.”
“You’re a good Servant, Valen.”
“Thank you, Master.”
Nilrem paused. Noshi could feel his possessor’s uneasiness and … was that fear?
“We are being watched,” Nilrem said, quietly, almost in a whisper. “Someone far away,” he murmured. “A woman, I believe. What the fools on this world call a crystal witch.”
“Shall I pursue her?” Valen asked.
Noshi felt his head shake quickly, as if to clear his mind. “No. It does not matter. Let her watch. Let her see what is coming. There is nothing she can do to stop us.” As Nilrem spoke, Noshi had a vision of what was to come, of hordes of slimy creatures devouring all life in every direction across the entire world and all people who did not wish to become fodder for the budmother bowing and scaping to Nilrem and his magicians. If Noshi could have shuddered and vomited, he would have.
“I shall require some assistance, Valen. Half-a-dozen foot soldiers should do.”
“I’ll tell the Budmother.” The false Glishman closed his eyes and tilted his head backwards, as if falling asleep standing up. Noshi noticed ragged pieces of skin that hung in small patches around the dull silver dome on his head as he leaned it back and realized that Valen was not wearing a metal cap at all: what he was seeing was the Glishman’s unnatural metal skull protruding through his flesh.
Almost instantly, the dark waters began to boil and stir. One at a time, things began crawling from the oily black lake. Once on the ice, the things began to walk upright, like men, but much taller and covered in heavy black scales. Each had the face, claws and tail of a lizard. Their eyes glowed yellow around the vertical slits of their pupils, and they stank even worse than the filthy waters that had spewed them out. Quickly, they gathered about the sled.
Noshi’s body nodded at Valen, secured the pack of gems to Bejo’s sled, and took its place at the rear of the sled. The dogs obeyed him without question and pulled him south toward the trader village – toward home. The lizard things followed at an easy gallop using all four legs, taking noisy, liquid breaths in the freezing air. Noshi knew what would happen to the village when they arrived. He knew what would become of his brother’s family and his own wife and three young sons. He saw their faces in his mind, as they were when he left them: happy, content, and playful. Then he saw them screaming, bleeding, dying in agony and horror. He wondered if that last bit were his own fears or if Nilrem were torturing him with the images.
Noshi screamed the entire trip, but no one could hear him, not even the dogs. Somehow, though, he knew that Nilrem heard his screams. And he knew that Nilrem relished each and every sound.