Chapter 1:

The pale stretched out as far as the eye could see, rolling over hills and reaching out towards the distant horizon. It was endless.

It glowed, light reflected upon its snowy surface from the ever dark sky. A contradiction of sorts, as how was it possible for the dark to emit light? It did however. A faint blue glow that lit the world just enough to see what was what.

Along its surface lay woodland in interspersed patches, inky black against the infinite white. Forests filled with tall pines, dense enough to keep the snow out but not the cold. The cold was ever present. A permanent, unwavering feature of this harsh land.

Kyich was its name, a mass of scattered villages and sprawling cities all fighting tooth and nail to see the next day.

It was a southern land, which meant harsh weather, unforgiving cold, and darkness. For there was no sun in Kyich or any of the southern lands, the light cast by it never reached the bottom of the world.

So the land was dark. Dark and cold. Its people lived with this knowledge, it was a hard fact to miss. But the vast majority were completely unaware that there was anything more comfortable than what they had - what they knew.

This did not mean the people were miserable however, rather, and perhaps strangely, the people were happy.

They knew only this life, a life of hardship caused, chiefly, by the weather. Through their shared struggle, bonds of family and friendship are forged as strong and unbreakable as steel. For human connection is fundamentally joyful, a metaphysical force left untarnished by the cold. By the dark.

Yet the flesh that holds these bonds can be cut. And that which bleeds will eventually rot.

—

There was a speck upon this white world, a speck moving neither fast nor slow. Just as quickly as it could manage whilst being thigh deep in a snow drift.

The speck was making its way towards a dark stretch of trees. It had been walking for some time - days perhaps. The endless drudgery of its journey weighing down heavily on both mind, body and soul.

The speck’s name was Venivik and his legs hurt.

Hurt like shit.

Not that shit hurt, he mused. In fact shit, or rather shitting, might help some of the hurt he felt.

It’d been days since he’d last shat and his stomach was beginning to ache something fierce. He reckoned he was constipated, although he wasn’t stupid enough to test the theory. Getting your arse out on the Pale’s plains was a good way to lose said arse and more besides. The thought made him shiver.

He was cold too, even bundled head to toe in wool - thick stuff they’d sheared from their goats.

Venivik was thankful the gods had thought to make goats, and given them wool enough to keep them warm. Without it he’d be long dead, frozen standing perhaps. He’d heard stories of people freezing mid stride, left there like some gruesome milestone marking a failed journey.

The tree line Venivik trudged towards was becoming clearer now. It was a blessing from almighty Dzz himself that a forest now stood in his path.

A tree was solid, reliable, not made of frozen water and could be made into fire. All in all, it was everything he needed right now. Besides a shit, that was.

Even just a sturdy trunk to lean against would be bliss, to take the pressure off his feet. Funny thing was, they didn’t even ache any more; they'd moved past that a long time ago.

A mixture of numbing cold and exhaustion had made them sting.

He could just about imagine the throbbing relief he’d feel as he took the weight off them. Then the agony of putting the weight back on.

Taking a break, making a fire, was all that kept him going at this point. And fear.

Fear of what had happened, what he was running from.

But also fear of the cold. He couldn’t sit down, not in the snow.

There had been points to rest throughout the journey, groves to camp the night in. But he’d not wanted to stop moving and had no desire to stay the night in them.

Instead he’d opted for rest only when he was aching for it. For example with some creative spirit a sapling or bush that had fought its way free from the deep snow could be turned into a place to sit.

A rock or boulder was more reliable, you could lay down upon it if you really wanted. Just not for too long, the cold would seep right into you.

You never wanted to get too comfortable out here, it’d be the death of you if you did. Mind you it’d be a peaceful death.

People say the cold somehow warms you up in those final moments, which was something that sounded awful attractive right then.

Luckily - or unluckily - depending on how you looked at it; Venivik wasn’t feeling particularly warm or comfortable at that very moment.

Venivik reached the nearest tree and leaned himself against it, raising his right leg off the ground.

The expected euphoric relief shot from his foot all the way up his leg. He balanced there, temporarily frozen, savouring the moment of joy.

Moments of joy had been few and far between in recent memory, so gods be damned he’d savour what he could, while he could.

He resettled the right leg and then rested the left in turn. He’d seen snow birds do it before, some trick with the blood.

A mixture of pain and pleasure coursed through his left leg, it felt like Dzz himself had come down from the heavens and kissed it. The right, however, felt like it had done a day's extra travel.

Venivik knew he’d have to walk further, not too much, just till a clearing appeared to him. But with his body in its current state, it’d be no easy task.

Despite this, he moved.

With both feet rooted in the deep snow, he hobbled onwards on leaden legs. The brief stop having taken a toll just as he knew it would.

The trouble with rest was that you never wanted to get going again, to get back to the pain that a moment ago had seemed so commonplace but now seemed a torture the gods themselves would wince at.

—

Snap.

The task of gathering firewood was second nature to Venivik. He knew what good kindling looked like, he’d not even have to see the stuff, just by feel and sound alone could he pluck it from trees as he passed.

Though his mind was working - a blessing in itself - he couldn’t quite say the same for his hands. Which at this point were entirely numb, even gloved as they were.

So Venivik skilfully, if not clumsily, set about his task.

Everyone in his village, everyone he’d ever known, had been able to make a fire in even the worst weather.

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

Even the rare rains that sometimes fell upon Kyich were no dampener on this talent. Wet wood, frozen wood, it all burned the same. For it was the words you said that mattered, not the material you had at hand.

A prayer. A couple words whispered to the winds was the trick. Simple really but it had to be done, otherwise you’d have no hope for keeping warm, no hope for a lasting fire.

And without fire there was no way for the gods to watch over you whilst you slept. And in these woods Venivik wanted all the protection he could get.

Yet despite the words he’d say, he still looked for dry, good quality, kindling.

Kindling always mattered, that initial spark to sing the words to, the tiniest of flames. It had to catch, something had to be given to the gods, some effort, some skill shown. It’d be an affront to say the words to a dull spark - and there was never any good to come from embarrassing yourself in front of the gods.

The ever present darkness grew only darker as Venivik delved into the forest's bowels.

The glow from the snowy plains had been starting to give him a headache. Yet the relief he felt from the surrounding darkness was fleeting - he felt uneasy, his mind unsettled by it.

There were no forests this large near his village. Which meant he’d never seen one like it, on account of him having never strayed more than a handful of miles from his home.

He wished for that blue glow now, it felt reassuring to him given all the dark. But that would not be possible, for any light was eaten by the tall, dark trunks that filled this space. The great needled trees ensnared the light, holding it captive - refusing to share a single drop with Venivik.

The further he walked the deeper the dark grew, till it was only possible to see a few strides ahead of him.

In itself this wasn’t strange, the forests at home got dark too.

But something felt off with this darkness.

These woods were alien. It was like the very trees themselves watched his every move.

—

Venivik knelt upon the ground. He’d finally found a clearing blessedly free from snow. The frozen earth beneath his knee was deathly cold, but hard and firm. His studded walking boots gripped it well and he could expend less energy moving across this terrain.

The trees around him were dense enough to keep the snow out and close enough to contain some small part of a fire’s heat, whilst also distant enough to give him some space.

A perfect balance. He just had to build the thing.

Hauling a sack from his back, Venivik unsheathed a shovel.

He used it first to clear the ground of needles and rocks. Then he began digging at the frozen ground. It was hard going but eventually the earth gave way, letting him get at the softer soil beneath.

A small pit to shelter the fire from any wind, to contain the heat and allow it to alight quicker.

He piled first some nearby fallen logs, they were nothing special but would burn regardless. Then he added the choice branches he’d picked on his journey through the wood. They were long dead and reasonably dry, fit for purpose.

Then he moved off to the side, and dug another, more important hole. At least it felt like it was at that very moment; his bowels were practically singing at this point. A burning, bubbling feeling had started up in his gut. It was now or never.

Venivik squatted over the hole. It was cold, very cold but he persisted. The once covered skin prickled and protested as the cold air washed over it, stealing what heat it had retained.

He definitely wasn’t constipated, which was a relief. Although the frozen leaf he used to wipe up afterwards took some of that relief away.

Getting up was a greater struggle than he’d anticipated. With heavyset woollen trousers around his ankles he could just about move but was restricted. Venivik stumbled forwards, falling to his knees.

Crack.

The sound was loud, too loud. Like a snapping branch, only amplified threefold.

Gazing slowly downwards, Venivik saw just that underneath his right knee a branch had indeed snapped.

But the sound he’d heard was too loud to be made by it alone. It was a small thing. Something else, at just that moment, had snapped a branch.

A rustle of leaves broke through the silence. It was brief and almost impossible to hear, but he had heard it - it had come from somewhere behind him.

Shit.

He was frozen in place, out of sheer instinct. A survival instinct. For whatever had made that noise hadn’t fled at his fall.

Was it a deer, a goat or something else?

No. A prey animal would have run at his fall, the thud he’d made hitting the ground was loud enough to spook it.

Whatever had made that noise hadn’t moved off, he would have heard it without fail.

Dread rooted him to the spot. Something out there was watching him. Its unseen eyes boring into him.

A prey animal wouldn’t act quickly, it’d wait for him to make another move before deciding on its own.

Venivik became painfully aware of the great woollen cap he wore. The benefits of wearing it were innumerable, it kept his ears warm, stopped the wind from making them ache. The only downside was he couldn’t hear shit with it on, nor see a whole lot. Its oversized flaps blocked his peripherals, making him feel blind to the world around him.

It was decided, he had to face it.

Whatever it was.

He didn’t want to but he had to. The pain of sitting there, the unknown lurking behind him, watching him, was too much to bear.

With as quick of a movement as he could manage, Venivik turned.

He slipped as he did so, the ground was icy and with his trousers half way up his thighs he hadn’t the best mobility.

So tumbling onto all fours, Venivik gazed horror-stricken, in the vague direction he expected the noise to have come from.

He’d been correct in his guess.

Movement, sudden but not unexpected, flashed before his eyes. A dark shape darted upwards and let out a piercing squawk.

It was a bird.

Truly terrifying, a horror beyond his wildest dreams.

Standing, Venivik pulled the trousers the rest of the way up, his arse was freezing, so was his prick. It’d take an age to warm them, so he made his way to the unlit fire and began to laugh.

The situation seemed silly - ridiculous in fact. The feeling came at him, a wave of emotion that felt odd - his laughing strange to his ears, it sounded strangled. He’d not used his voice in days, not spoken to a soul since he’d left his family to go hunting.

His family.

The laughter tapered off into silence. Memories, forcibly repressed, surfaced in his mind.

He didn’t want to think them, he fought their very being in his head. But there was no fight left in him and now he’d stopped moving he found they came despite his protest.

—

He’d arrived back from the hunt, it’d been decent. Four rabbits - plenty for his family. But something was wrong.

Walking through the village he saw that doors had been caved in, brutally, as if by some great force.

With some hesitancy, he’d poked his head into the first home. It belonged to Velichy and his wife Mira, along with their two children.

Inside, life had been going on as usual. Food bubbled away in cook pots, tables were laid for eating. Tools looked to have been in use only a moment ago, as if their owners had just stepped out for some air.

Nothing looked out of place, as if there had been no reaction to their door being caved in.

Then he saw smoke. It was coming from his own home. He’d battled the fire, gotten inside but there had been no one. His home wasn’t large, one main room and a sleeping area. It had been easy to search the place, even with the flames gaining in intensity.

But yet again, there had been no one. He was sure of it.

He’d only been gone a handful of hours. He’d waved goodbye to his father, everything had seemed so normal.

Venivik felt suddenly sick at the memory of his father. He didn’t know why. Didn’t want to know why.

But a part of him did, deep inside him.

He could not access this memory, it was as if his mind kept it from him. Blocking him from thinking it - for his own sanity’s sake.

He’d seen no sign of struggle. No blood. No bodies.

Not even the animals, goats and chickens, remained. All was gone without a trace.

However one thing stood out to him, more than anything else.

There had been no footprints.

It had snowed that morning, a fresh layer. His were the only prints left in it as he’d left that morning and his were still the only ones left in it upon returning.

Humans can cover their prints if they had to. Granted it took time to do so, but it was possible. However even then, he’d be able to tell, there was always something to pick up on.

But there had been no trace. Not even the animals had left any sign of their existence. No hoof prints, nothing.

Everyone had disappeared.

—

It was cold in the camp, Venivik had yet to light a fire, caught up in his thoughts as he was. Recalling those memories didn’t help him, rather adding to the chill he felt.

He’d not been able to think back to the village, his journey had taken up every moment since then. But now, as he sat in front of his unlit fire, he realised there were holes - gaps - in the memories.

He tried to delve the gaps but as soon as he did his mind filled them with something easier to stomach.

It had been bandits. It was the only thing that made sense. Bandits had raided the village, killed everyone and left. It would explain the damage to the buildings and the fire.

Although he was yet to meet a man that could tear a three foot thick door from its hinges, leaving it a heap of splinters.

And the disappearances - they were made up in his head. It must have been gruesome. He loved the people in that village so his mind shielded him from the reality of it.

People didn’t just vanish, it made no sense.

So it had to be bandits. This surely meant that they were all dead but it was better than the alternative.

That his whole village, everyone he had ever known, had disappeared without a trace.

Without a single print left upon the fresh snow.

Venivik’s arse had begun to tingle painfully. He was slowly freezing to death and no amount of reminiscing would warm him.

He had to light the fire.

Now with his mind focused back on the reality of his situation, Venivik began to shiver. His shaking hands made the task all the harder.

Venivik reached into an exterior chest pocket, producing a flint, a steel and a handful of wood shavings.

With a whisper of words, Venivik blew on the shavings. They puffed out in front of his lips, forming a small cloud that hung in the air. Deftly Venivik struck the long rock with the flattened metal, aiming the resulting sparks at the cloud floating before him.

The cloud burst into flames, dropping into the pile of twigs laid out in the ditch he’d dug.

Within no time there was a fire, merrily crackling away, holding back the darkness of the forest.

Venivik knelt before the fire, placing his hands upon his knees. Then he spoke with croaking words:

‘O Dzz, mighty burning light. Tether this humble flame to that of yours, ever burning, strong and bright. Receive now my gift unto you,’

Venivik tossed a scrap of dried meat, fished from his pocket, into the fire.

‘Glory to you, O’ mighty one. Hear me now, if you’d be so kind; keep my flame bright, so that it may withstand this night. Hail, mighty Dzz.’

The offering hadn’t been much, even so it was more than he could spare. But it had to be given, it was only right, it was the only way to make the bloody fire last the night.

Besides, what use was meat to a dead man?

The area around Venivik’s camp began to grow in brightness, as if the fire’s flames were double the height they actually were.

A warmth spread through his body, taking the chill from his bones.

Without his god, Venivik would have been dead days ago, he was the only thing keeping him going.

Prayers to Dzz whilst on the long journey kept him warm, kept the Pale’s plains from overwhelming him.

It seemed to Venivik that Dzz was the only real thing he had left in his life. It would have to sustain him.

The warmth in Venivik’s body fermented his exhaustion, gestating it, till finally it overcame him.

He leaned back against a tree, it was the final piece in the puzzle.

Sleep had taken him before he knew it.