บท 25: Snowstorm is coming
Bjorn and Mikkel walked in tense silence at the front of the group, leading them deeper into the abyssal descent of the Great Summit. The terrain was unforgiving, each step echoing faintly off the jagged, unseen cliffs in the suffocating darkness. The faint light of their torches barely illuminated the way, swallowed almost instantly by the oppressive mist. Behind them, the group shuffled along, their unease palpable, their murmurs punctuated by cries and raised voices.
At the back, Astrid's voice rang out, sharp and desperate, cutting through the muted shuffling of feet. "Let me see him!" she yelled, her voice trembling as she tried to push her way toward Olaf, who was being dragged by Ugle. Erik's sobs followed, his young voice choked with fear and confusion. Ingrid and Sigrid clung to their mother, their faces pale, whispering questions she couldn't answer.
In the middle of the group, Anna and Elin pressed Arne for answers, their voices sharp and insistent. "Are you an idiot?" Anna snapped, her frustration mounting. "Tell us what's going on! Why do we have to march through this nightmare at night?"
Arne's gaze was hollow, his face betraying exhaustion and something darker—a guarded dread. "Bjorn told you," he said flatly. "Olaf was attacked by a bear. There was a pack of snow-prikers near the bear's cave. They might be following us."
The mention of snow-prikers silenced them momentarily. The creatures were rare but legendary for their ferocity. They resembled lizards, their bodies covered in thick white feathers around their necks and backs, with long, muscular tails for balance. They moved on two powerful legs, able to navigate rocky terrain with terrifying speed and precision. Packs of snow-prikers, led by dominant males, were said to take down even the monstrous stone-bears, the towering predators of this unforgiving wilderness.
Elin trembled at the thought, clutching Arne's arm as if it could shield her from the imagined predators lurking in the darkness. Her fear was almost contagious, her grip tightening until Arne finally shrugged her off. "We'll be fine," he muttered, though his voice lacked conviction.
Near the rear of the group, Astrid grew more desperate. "Let me see Olaf!" she shouted again, her steps quickening as she tried to close the distance. But Ugle, dragging Olaf's motionless body behind him, turned sharply, his tone unyielding.
"You cannot see him now!" Ugle yelled back, his voice cutting through the tension. "We need to keep moving. You can talk to him later."
With a rough motion, he pushed Astrid aside and continued forward. Astrid stumbled, caught off guard, and her children cried out, their frightened voices echoing in the dark. Behind her, Thors family stood frozen, their faces grim as they watched the chaotic scene unfold. Helene turned to Arvid, her voice low and furious. "What's going on? What aren't you telling us?"
Arvid, like Arne, gave the same rehearsed response. "Snow-prikers and a bear," he muttered, avoiding her piercing gaze.
At the front of the group, Mikkel leaned closer to Bjorn, his voice a low whisper. "If this continues, we're going to lose control of them. This tension—it's going to snap, and we'll end up hurting each other."
"Don't you think I know that?" Bjorn replied, his tone sharp with frustration. His eyes scanned the dark horizon, searching for some unseen marker of progress.
"At the very least," Mikkel said, more insistent now, "we need to let them rest. We should settle down near midnight. Pushing them like this will only make things worse."
Bjorn hesitated, his jaw tightening. "We'll see," he muttered, his voice low and noncommittal.
"That's not smart," Mikkel shot back, his voice rising slightly before he caught himself. He glanced back at the group, lowering his tone again. "If they don't sleep, they'll break down. And what if that... thing shows up while we're moving at night?"
"It won't," Bjorn said, his voice cold and certain.
Mikkel stared at him, disbelief flashing in his eyes. "How do you know?"
Bjorn leaned closer, his whisper barely audible. "It's sentient. It likes to play with its prey. If we're all awake and moving, it won't risk attacking us all at once."
Mikkel's expression darkened, his lips pressing into a thin line. He murmured something under his breath, inaudible to Bjorn, before looking ahead into the void. The faint outline of a snow cloud loomed in the distance, its edges stark against the night.
"I hope you're right," Mikkel said finally, his voice hollow. He raised a hand, pointing to the cloud far ahead. "Because a storm's coming."
Bjorn followed his gaze, his stomach sinking as he saw the massive, swirling snow cloud approaching. It would be on them soon, and when it hit, the fragile thread holding the group together would be tested even further.
Bjorn stared at the storm, his fists clenched, the tension in his jaw so tight it felt as though it might snap. He knew exactly what this storm meant. If they were caught in its swirling chaos, the creature—whatever it was—would use it as cover, picking them off one by one. On the other hand, setting up camp now would only doom them to be swallowed by the storm before they could establish even a shred of protection.
Bjorn's voice came out low and strained as he muttered through his teeth. "This is bad."
Mikkel nodded grimly, his face shadowed by worry. "Worse than bad. Do you have any ideas?"
Bjorn turned to Mikkel, his eyes narrowed. "What about you? Got anything?"
But Mikkel didn't answer. He had stopped two steps behind Bjorn, his gaze fixed on something far ahead, past the storm's churning edge. Bjorn's chest tightened as a terrible thought gripped him. Had Mikkel seen it? The creature? His pulse quickened as he followed Mikkel's gaze, expecting to see the void-like figure looming in the storm's misty veil.
But there was nothing—no monster, no abomination tearing through reality. Only snow swirling like ash in a rising wind.
"Mikkel!" Bjorn hissed, his grip tightening on his ice axe. "What are you staring at?"
Mikkel finally spoke, his voice quiet and uncertain. "Do you see those lights?" He raised a hand, pointing toward the heart of the storm.
Bjorn squinted, focusing his eyes through the shifting white. At first, there was only the snow's relentless dance, but then, faint and flickering, three distinct lights emerged, swaying in irregular patterns as they moved closer. Flashlights—three of them—cutting through the haze.
Bjorn's gut twisted. He turned quickly, his voice sharp as a blade. "Arne!" he called, the urgency in his tone unmistakable. "Stop the group!"
Arne, twenty meters behind, responded instantly. "Stop!" he barked, raising a hand and turning to halt the others. The group stumbled to a halt, confusion rippling through their ranks.
Weapons came out in seconds. Arvid and Arne pulled their gear, readying their mechanical spear and handgun respectively, while Ugle stood frozen, his hands trembling violently. His pale face glistened with sweat despite the cold, his usual calm shattered into nervous energy.
Bjorn turned back to Mikkel, his own weapon at the ready. With a practiced motion, he transformed his ice axe into a spear, the blade gleaming faintly in the dim light. The front of the group was thick with tension, their breath visible in the freezing air, hanging like smoke between them. The fog pressed closer, the shadows of the storm deepening as the lights continued their approach.
The moments stretched into what felt like hours. Each second dragged painfully as the lights drew nearer, the faint crunch of snow underfoot becoming audible over the rising wind. The shapes behind the lights began to emerge—three figures, moving quickly, practically running toward them.
Bjorn's heart hammered in his chest. He glanced at Mikkel, who stood rigid, his face pale but focused. Then he turned back toward the figures, the outlines of people becoming clear through the fog.
"Three..." Bjorn murmured to himself, struggling to believe what he was seeing.
Three people, strangers, alive and running toward them from the storm. It was impossible—unthinkable. Yet here they were, their flashlights bobbing as they pushed through the snow, their hurried movements carrying them closer to Bjorn and Mikkel.
"Mikkel," Bjorn whispered, his voice taut with disbelief. "Who the hell are they?"
Mikkel's grip tightened on his weapon, his gaze locked on the approaching figures. "I don't know," he said quietly, his tone heavy with unease. "But I think we're about to find out."
As the three figures came into full view, Bjorn and Mikkel could barely keep their composure. What stood before them was unlike anything they had ever seen—human, perhaps, but twisted in ways that defied logic or reason. Bjorn's grip on his spear tightened as he felt his body tense with equal parts fear and bewilderment.
The man on the right was short and entirely wrapped in bandages, head to toe. Not even a single opening for his eyes or mouth was visible; he was a faceless enigma. A massive bag, grotesquely oversized compared to his small frame, was strapped to his back. The sheer weight of it seemed impossible to carry, yet the figure moved with ease, his bandage-clad feet shuffling silently across the snow. There were no shoes, no sound—just a muted, eerie presence.
The second man was monstrous in size, even larger than Arne, who was the largest in their group. His shadow-like silhouette seemed to shift unnaturally, blending into the darkness as if it were a part of him. A pitch-black cloth hung loosely around his shoulders, moving in an unsettlingly fluid way that defied the whipping winds of the storm. The only reason Bjorn and Mikkel could see him was the faint glow of the flashlight he carried, which seemed almost reluctant to illuminate him fully. His smile—a grotesque, wide grin—stretched unnaturally across his face, a silent challenge to the sanity of anyone who looked too long.
But it was the third figure that sent a true wave of terror rippling through Bjorn. The third man—or whatever he was—stood taller than both the shadowed giant and the bandaged figure, at least two and a half meters tall, with a frame so massive it rivaled the size of a bear. He was shirtless, his torso exposed to the freezing cold as though he didn't even register the temperature. His skin glistened faintly in the dim light, its texture almost unnatural, and his chest heaved with slow, deliberate breaths. The mere sight of his massive, imposing form sent a primal chill coursing through Bjorn's veins.
"What the hell…" Bjorn whispered under his breath, unable to finish the thought. His mind raced to make sense of what he was seeing, but there was no sense to be found.
The figures stopped about 40 meters in front of Bjorn and Mikkel, their flashlights cutting harsh beams through the swirling snow. The distance only seemed to amplify their menace, each detail illuminated by the unnatural glow. The rest of the group, huddled behind Bjorn and Mikkel, erupted into a cacophony of questions and panicked cries.
"What are they?" Anna's voice was a sharp whisper, breaking under the weight of fear.
"They're not human!" someone else muttered, their voice trembling.
But Ugle's voice rose above the others, shrill and frantic. "We should run! Now!" he screamed, before spinning around and stumbling into the darkness, his panic overriding any semblance of reason. His trembling form vanished into the mist, the sound of his footsteps fading quickly.
Bjorn didn't move. His body refused to respond, locked in place as his mind struggled to comprehend what stood before him. The air felt heavier, the storm swirling around them amplifying the oppressive atmosphere.
It was Mikkel who finally broke the silence. His voice was firm, though his hands shook slightly as he held his weapon. "We mean no harm!" he called out, his voice echoing faintly. "If you're not here to fight, we don't want trouble!"
The three figures remained still, utterly silent, their eerie forms outlined by the wavering light of their flashlights. They didn't respond, didn't move—didn't even acknowledge Mikkel's words. Their stillness was suffocating, like predators watching their prey with cold, detached precision.
Bjorn swallowed hard, his throat dry as he struggled to find his voice. "What do you want?" he finally managed to say, his words weak against the howling wind.
No answer came. The man in the middle, the one with the shadow-like cloth and the grotesque smile, tilted his head ever so slightly, as though amused by the question. His grin widened further—an impossible feat that sent a shudder down Bjorn's spine.
"They're not answering," Mikkel muttered, his voice low and tense as he glanced at Bjorn. "What do we do?"
Bjorn didn't respond. His mind raced, his instincts screaming at him to act, but no clear course of action presented itself. The figures stood there, unmoving, their presence a puzzle that defied every natural law he understood.
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