The frigid ice felt like needles on our skin that were carried by howling winds that defend us. The chill, like razor blades in our lungs and our armour like ice. Even through the thick woollen gambesons, we could feel the frozen metal of our cuirass as it drained the heat from our chest. Some of us had ripped them off and tossed them down into the snow along with their greaves and pauldrons. Why were we climbing this mountain in full coat of arms and arms with swords and shields? There was no enemy, no foe to the empire, only an order from the king and his advisor that it was simply something that needed to be done.
The only one of us whom never faltered, stumbled or rested was our commander, who led the march up the mountain. Still adorned in his armour and clutching a small box under his arm. He did not speak of the contents of the box, nor would he ever let it leave his side.
What madness this was, to send a handful of soldiers on an expedition to summit the peak of the world, and what secrets did the captain hold? He knew something that we did not. These were the whispering murmurs that floated in the air of our tent as we tried to sleep and stave off the biting, gnawing cold. But we knew so little, only that we had to march.
The higher we climbed, the more we noticed that the colour of the sky began to shift. What was once a vibrant blue slowly gave way to a faint but unmistakable reddened hue. Nobody dares acknowledge it or question it, lest we be seen as mad. Nobody wanted to be the one to claim the sky had turned to blood, for who in their right mind would believe such nonsense. Though I could see in their eyes and the way they glanced at the sky for but the shortest moment, they saw it too. They glanced towards the sky the same way they glanced towards me, an oddity, a thing that does not belong, something unnatural. I could not fault them for this; I was of mixed heritage, neither of this land.
We pushed forward through thick walls of snow that buried the blackened rock of the mountain path, and as we neared the summit, we came across a cave, withing it's sheltered maw sat a tent, lonely and battered eternally by the wind but standing nonetheless. Without orders, some of the men rushed towards it in hope of shelter and a faint warmth. Our captain protested for all but a moment before joining the rest of us inside the old tent.
We stood by the entrance, the urge to flee the cold all but gone when confronted with what sat before us. Within the tent, huddled near the back was a man, frozen still and half rotten. We moved forward and inspected the corpse closely. Noting the decay of his flesh and the style of clothes he was wearing despite the crushing darkness of the tent, and noting a book sitting at his feet next to a long extinguished firepit.
"Captain," One man piped up. "Are we not the first to summit this peak?" Of course, there was no record of anyone summiting the mountain, no knowledge in the halls of Balim as to what was atop its peak.
"No, " his response was as cold as the air around him. "But we will be the first to return."
We began to settle on the cold rock around the fire pit as the two men who carried supplies began to rummage through their packs, producing kindling and flint to reignite this dead flame. We sat and watched the sparks fly, wondering if the fire would remain unlit, wondering if we might join this frozen corpse here, wondering if the captain's words would hold true.
As the fire slowly began to blossom, the tent started to glow. The fabric of the tent was unlike our own; it reflected the firelight strongly and lit the space well. We saw the body in detail for the first time, no longer a cold mass of rot. We could see the fine patterns of his clothes, the style of his boots. This was no low-born man nor a soldier, but not a noble either. I sat closest to it and reached out, scooping the book up that sat at its feet. I opened it and began to read.
"It is the year sixty of the second age. Quima has seen much in the way of technological advancements. I, Carl Fies, have been working alongside machine smiths and labourers to create something I call a SpyGlass."
I paused my readings and looked around as I was being gawked at. One who had his mouth agape simply muttered, "Read that first line again". I obliged and read it once more, "It is the year sixty of the second age."
"You mean to say…" A different voice croaked. "This man had been frozen here for over a thousand years?"
"Seems so," I muttered as I flipped a few pages past before I continued to read. "I found that after many iterations of my invention, simply making a larger device affords greater magnification. The dutchie of Quimya has ordered some to be mounted atop the entrance of the western mountain pass so look out onto the eastern sea. Though using these larger prototypes, I decided to point one toward Mount Eshik, to which I spied something most unsettling."
I paused once more and looked up to the gawking faces and to the captain whose eyes squinted slightly at my words. I fear he knew something and that he was concerned I might say something I should not. I looked down at the pages again. "Atop the peak of the world, I saw what looked like a structure, one of unnatural shape. The tip of an arch. Who would be mad enough to place such a thing, and when?"
I glanced upward towards the commander along with everyone else, the same though echod in all of our minds at the words. The commander looked at us and said nothing. The tension broke as I rustled through more pages until I landed on the last one with writing on it.
"I fear I am to die here. The path I took collapsed behind me, leaving me no known way back. Though I've ascended to the peak of this world, I leave with more questions than answers about the nature, or rather, the unnatural existence of the arch at the summit. I will ascend once more tomorrow and draw what I saw and do all in my power to chronicle this discovery, and then I will toss this book as hard as I can from the edge of the mountain and pray that some miracle it is found."
The captain marched over and snatched the book from my hands, flipping to the next page and then back once more with a disappointed look. With a click of his tongue, he dropped the book into the fire. "This is no time to be heading the words of the dead long past. We climb, now."
The five other soldiers grieved to their feet with a pained heave as I followed suit. One turned back to the captain and the corpse. "What of him?"
"Saint Maria watches over him now; we can do nothing."
The seven of us left the tent and felt the biting chill once more against our faces, and within our lungs as we beard the summit and came upon the final rise, we saw the same sight. A towering archway of black carved stone. Along its width were carved indentations of what could only be a long-lost language comprised of strange and flowing lines and sharp corners. It stood tall, with only the top section holding a curve, more the shape of a door than an arch. The earth we stood atop was flattened unnaturally so, as if someone had simply cut the peak of the mountain off as one would fell a tree.
The structure itself gave off an ominous air, like a warning to the senses that one should not get too close, like a coiled snake or a snarling dog; it was the same feeling. The captain stepped forward first, moving the box that he had locked under his arm and gripping it with both hands. We watched with morbid curiosity as he opened the box and held it aloft with both hands. Quickly, a black smoke rose from the box, but not like the smoke of a fire. This was thicker, darker, and flowed against the wind, almost like something alive.
As this dark thing flowed out and towards the structure, the five others drew their swords and screamed against the wind. Yelling accusations towards the captain that he was a heretic, that this was magic, that he was a traitor.
The smoke filled the frame of the structure, making it darker than night. The captain turned back and looked directly towards me, and with a whisper on the wind that I could inexplicably hear, he said, "This is the only way."
The wind died, the snow stopped falling. A deep tremor came from the archway, then another, and another. They were not tremors of the earth but rather footsteps. Looming and powerful. Within the deep dark emerged eyes, red glowing eyes that towered high above us as this thing slowly emerged from the deep dark. The darkness moved outward as a silhouette of large, clawed hands wrapped around the edges of the arch and moved closer still. This towering being was not obscured by the dark; rather, it was the darkness itself. It stepped forward and let loose a horrid scratch that pierced our ears until they bled. Then, it looked down at me and made another sound. "Ssssssshhhiii" it hissed out towards me. I knew what it was going to say before it said it. "Shhhhhhiiiiiiinya." It was my name, "Shinya." It said more clearly.
"Shinya!" My eyes snapped open as my name was called. I looked towards the doorway to see my mother standing behind the thin veil that separated my room from the hallway. I groaned out softly. "Finally, wake up. We're headed into the village today." She moved on, allowing the morning light from the window behind her to flow into the room.
My room was simple and plain, made of sturdy wood; it was little more than a large box, with the only entrance or exit being where a thin veil hung in place of a door, as with a door in its stead, the room would be plunged into pure darkness. My bed, like the room, was made from wood and by hand. This room was originally a storage room for long-life grains and salted meats; it was meant to be dark and cool. The bed, however, I made myself last year when I turned twelve with the help of my mother. It was simple and crude, but comfortable enough with the feather-stuffed sack I slept atop.
As I sloppily arose from the bed and began to change my clothes, I pondered upon my strange dream. There was something oddly familiar about it, as if I had dreamt that dream before, though I did not know when. Buried by my mother's call once more, I finished dressing myself and walked out, through the narrow hall and emerged in the kitchen and dining room. Of the three main rooms that made up our home, this was by far the largest and took up almost half of the whole house. The back wall near the window is where the fireplace and kitchen were. On the right-hand wall were boxes that housed long-life grain, and across from that was a small table where we ate. Mother had her back to me as she stood by the fireplace, trying to ignite it. "Go fetch some water, would you?"
I yawned as I opened the door and walked outside, as the strange mix of growing crops mingled with the foul stench of animal dung crept into my nose. I circled to the rear of the house, passing the clothes line and chicken coop, towards the well that sat between our house and the forest edge. I hooked a bucket to the well and lowered it down into the dark bellow.
What was that dream? I pondered once more. I feel like I was atop a mountain… strange… how do I know what snow looks like?