Thrain - Part 22: Then It Charged

Njalor and Erik begin the journey through Sklal's Tomb...but that is not without its risks.

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The peaks rose now all around them as if they walked through some primordial being’s opened ribcage. Howling over the tips and into the valley, the wind stole comfort and offered only an eerie, keening wail: soft enough to ignore, loud enough to unsettle.

Arms locked together, Erik took his turn as shield bearer against the unrelenting gusts. It came presently over the northern cliffs, biting at any exposed skin and making it well colder than it truly was. The wind would kill even expert proper-clad northmen, making this defense common, especially to those enduring Sklal’s Tomb.

They brought no water, only two firestones. One they would gift to the Elders, the other they would need for their journey home.

Njalor stumbled as Erik shifted direction. Ever did the peak, which still was not visible, pull at his focus. Glancing back at his steps, he realized the red-haired man followed the sun, at least, as best they could while it still pierced into the valley. When it set, the would have to find shelter immediately or freeze.

“I mark a second peak leftwards,” Erik said. They neared the river.

Njalor grunted. “Shield then. Let us make for it, and perhaps shelter from this horrid breeze for a time.”

Trading places, the large square piece of armor rested again on his arm and shoulder, returning the dull ache to his muscles. It wasn’t truly armor; the assembled wood struts, wool, and animal skin would let even a child’s toy tear it open, but it rebuffed the wind effectively and carrying a true shield of this size would have been as much a death sentence as the cold.

Getting to the river meant leaving the sun, and this Njalor felt like a blanket being snatched off him in the night. Cold as he was, the exertion forced sweat from him, which now began in places to freeze before it left his skin. He gritted his teeth and pressed on.

Such was the way of the north. He would endure for his people.

In approaching the mountains directly, the slope began a sudden strange plunge again, right at the base. Though all within sight stayed white and cold blues, the faint rushing of fast-moving water carried to their ears.

Dark and cold, this plunge of the terrain and their nearness to the mountains did finally shield them from the wind. He set the windshield in the snow. It promptly fell over.

“Sköll above,” he said laughing, “I did not credit the years it has been since I’ve taken a journey like this.” Setting it upright, he pulled from its base additional wooden struts, which anchored it into the snow. “For you and I, Erik, it’s been seven cycles. You though…”

The big man hung his axe on the now-fortified shield, and removed a spear with an oddly blunted end. “Aye, for us it has.” He grinned. “I should think you recall my last adventure through this pass.”

His eyes went wide. “The rabid Northbear!” He shook his head, and grabbed a similar weapon from his back. “It did not come to mind, I think, given the differing spirit of the journeys.”

“That is fair. It was, in all ways. Warmer, on a more joyous occasion. We didn’t even bring food.”

Njalor snorted. “Imagine hunting in the spring now.” For a moment, he cast a dark look southward. “Well. Shall we?”

He nodded, and they crept, slowly and carefully down the slope. As they did, the sound of the water grew louder, until finally Erik stopped, then rammed his spear into the snow.

Only passing into the snow a few inches, it slammed into ice. After both of them did this a few times, Erik leapt into the air and came down hard on both feet. Crack.

He shook his head, and motioned further up the channel. For the next several minutes, they repeated this process, until finally when jumping, the ice did not crack. Then they went to work, making their previous pummeling of the ice seem slow and lazy.

“Ha!” Erik yelled and as he slammed the spear down it went far further than it had a moment ago.

Njalor knelt, and affixed a scope to the bottom of the weapon, before turning and gathering a few items together on the snow. First, a leather bag, which he had deep within his furs moments ago, and secondly a stone, etched with Runes. Taking also a few wooden rods out, he placed the stone on the rods, and the bag on that.

The big man dunked the spear within the water, and came out with a small portion of clear, very cold water--cold enough that it began to form a sheen of ice even as he moved to towards the bag. He had his hands on the rock, however, and it had begun to glow. When the water was poured into the bag, the ice quickly dissolved.

In this manner they continued, until they had enough to drink. This they drank quickly, before it froze, and then bundled back up their supplies.

A great crack! split the river channel, from around the bend. Shuffling of something great and big followed.

“Northbear?”

Erik removed his axe from the shield, but replaced it on his back. “Northbear.”

Moving methodically, they readied the shield until they stood, shoulder to shoulder with the shield, thin but darkly colored pelts on their back spread wide left and right. In this manner the span from left to right covered a distance of nearly fifteen feet, and they held the shield tall, towering some twelve feet in the air.

From around the channel, a great white shape lumbered forward. Matted fur dotted with ice glittered hypnotically, and large clawed paws thumped into the ground. Its great triangular face snapped to them, dark eyes peering out. Bunched muscle meaty shoulders moved the enormous beast forward, and even from there, some twenty feet from the main ice of the river, its steps cracked ice many feet below the snow. It paused.

While not fond of human prey, it was not unknown for them to eat northmen caught unawares. With their shield and seeming expanded size however, their risk was low. The bear snorted, and stamped a paw into the ground.

“Erik…”

“Noise.”

Walking forward, they both shouted. The shout of an Urheim warrior, even were they to be stricken fully with fear (and this bear did nothing of the sort), would yet be frightening and powerful. From birth, boys postured with shouting matches, and it was a glorious day when their voices dropped and they could yell in the throaty tones of the warriors they looked up to.

The Northbear stamped both paws at their roar, and a gritty, angry sound ripped from its own throat. Then it charged.

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Thrain - Part 23: Felling A Northbear