Chương 34: Chapter Thirty-Four: The First Winter

BEFORE THE JOURNEY NORTH The night was still young as Hollis finished his work building a system of barriers along the canyon floor. He had worked until his hands were numb and his mind was so tired he could no longer run through his plans and preparations for the journey north. He stood back to appreciate his work as a large gust of wind blew another wisp of fog over the edge of the canyon. It just might work, he thought.

When he had started the project, his goal had been to create a blockade between the entrance of the hospice and the outside world. It wasn't much, but if he could practice building walls for survival shelters while also helping secure the base, he would do it. Back when he had seen the creatures in the fog with their glowing lights that had so entranced him, they had been walking on the ground. With some sticks, mud, and moss, he had built a series of barriers up to his chest that would be difficult to crawl over.

It was essentially a maze that was easy enough to cross through in the daylight, but with a few alterations could be turned into an impassable structure. It would do nothing against the creature that was capable of attacking the explorer in the treehouse, but what could he do to prepare against something like that? The primary function of the series of walls was to divert any fog that poured off the edge of the cliff away from the settlement.

Whatever these creatures were, they stuck to the areas where the fog was, so if these walls could simply stop the fog from flowing over toward the hospice or garden area, they might not have to worry about whether the creatures could make it through the big metal door. He looked up at the canyon once again, checking to make sure his understanding of the geography was correct. When the fog came, and it surely would come soon, it would arrive like a waterfall two hundred yards from where he was standing.

From there the fog would spread like water along the canyon floor, crossing over the river and dissipating north and south. When it went south, it would hit his barriers. All they needed to do was fortify the walls he had built with some campfire moss. That would be a task for Tawny. She was more adept at it, and given how hard the moss was to keep alive in the canyon, it would likely need regular application and activation by a human. Where the fog hit the false fire, it would, in theory, simply cease to spread.

He relied on that theory to protect his share of the settlers of the abandoned continent. But what if the creatures didn't have to stay in the fog? What if they were large enough to climb over his simple walls, and clever enough to understand that humans were hiding behind the big metal door? If that were the case, he would fail. Perhaps, in desperation, they would flee further into the facility than before. There were plenty of halls to wander, more doors to hide behind.

In their efforts to store for winter, they had enough food to last a prolonged siege, though it was never enough to satisfy Tawny. Willo was sleeping under Hollis' collar. He didn't want to wake him, so he made slow, even movements. He could actually feel the restorative power of the small glowbug's rest radiating into his own mind through the connection they shared. He looked up at the stars, but he didn't find destiny written in them. He saw indifference.

These celestial bodies had seen so many great and terrible things happen in Periapt. No grand force vied to keep these people alive. He decided it was time, finally, to go to bed. He had more preparations for the morning. He had to find the path through his maze of walls, which was fairly easy to do as he could see over them. It was funny to him that, to keep these people safe, he had resorted to a tactic not so different from the kind often used in the strategy computer games he had played.

If you want to keep something safe, spam a bunch of walls around it. When he made it to the other side, he noticed that Tawny had not turned in. Although she had sent Paul to bed, she was out in the cafeteria sitting in one of the chairs, drinking something out of a copper mug. Only when he called out her name did the bioluminescent plants in the pot next to her light up to reveal her face.

"You think it'll work?" she asked.

"It'll divert the fog," he said.

"Not that any of us would be comfortable sleeping that close to danger."

"It's a pity," she said.

"If we weren't worried about the creatures in the fog destroying things, it sure would be nice to have the garden watered overnight." She laughed.

"Maybe there's a barter to be made," Hollis said.

"Show me the eidolon in charge of this infernal calamity, and I'll make a deal right this minute," she said.

"Though I can't think of much anything I could offer that the creatures couldn't just take."

"You know, there is another option," Hollis said.

"When we hunt out west of the canyon, there is terrain up there that we might be able to fortify. If we could find some place that was safe on the other side of the canyon, we would never have to worry about the fog again."

"Yes, it would be the perfect solution, and it may just be a fact that there is an ideal hideout up there if only we were willing to walk a few miles down the trail. Otis has taken more trips than one looking for a little oasis for us, a place with no threats. It would have to be within walking distance so that we could get the old folks there. But he never quite found one. There was a reason that the journey west required dozens of working hands and armed guards. West just ain't safe."

Hollis knew all too well how dangerous the western trail was, even though in the game he had only seen a small snippet of it. Where the tutorial zone of Beckett's Sound was difficult, the trail was comically hard, and that was back when it was traversed regularly. Without anyone keeping it cleared and keeping the bigger animals scared away, he could only imagine how dangerous it was now.

"No hope of getting these folks to Burnt Cabin, then, I assume," he said.

"Not even if they were in top condition," she answered as she took a sip from her copper mug.

"Don't tell anyone I said this, but there's a reason none of these folks found a way onto one of the caravans headed west. Even at their best, they aren't good for much in the way of surviving. They are city folk." She smiled and laughed. Hollis didn't know whether she was joking or if it was the truth, but he suspected it was a little of both.

Half a dozen of the patients would have been very young children back when the fog first struck, and the elderly would have been infirm even then, and all they'd managed to do was get older ever since.

"All right, so I know why they didn't find a caravan, but you and Otis seem capable enough. Why'd you never find your way west any time over the years?"

"Otis has gone west," she said.

"He was one of the first to return to the abandoned continent. He's been to Burnt Cabin and Terelusa. He's been all around the Dragon's Horn, made a living guarding caravans going back and forth. In the end, he stayed where he was most useful, and he is quite useful here."

"Sure enough," Hollis said, "but you're a doctor. I assume you must be in high demand. What kept you here?" By the glow of her bioluminescent plants, he saw her smile and stare into the distance for a while. She didn't answer right away. She held out her hand and then gave Breath with a small whistle. Ten feet away, the wooden bird that her son Paul had been playing with came to life, scooted off the edge of a table, and flew across the open air toward her, where she gently caught it. She examined it as she spoke.

"Our first year here was more than twenty years ago. It was a harsh winter. Paul must have been nine or ten, but everyone could tell he was different. He wasn't like other kids…" She trailed off. This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

"That first winter was especially harsh, more so than any we've had since. I've prepared for that kind of winter every year since. Once you know what nature is capable of, you never underestimate her again. What you Kaziers don't seem to understand is that Beckett's Sound was never safe, even before the fog. That winter, disease and cold killed almost all the livestock we had. You could never know which had done it because the symptoms were so similar. The old timers called the plague Kettler Frost.

Humans can't catch it, supposedly. I had never heard about it in all my training. Anyway, the bay froze over, so we couldn't get any supplies by ship." She allowed the wooden bird to flutter back to the table. It was graceful under her control.

"People were desperate then," she said.

"Dozens starved, too many of them children. Come spring, people were so eager to get out of here and make their way west toward the settlements along the trail with high walls and no freezing winds off the sea. They'd do almost anything to get on a caravan.

"There was violence, theft, deceit. Men going missing in the middle of the night and everyone knowing what happened but no one saying anything, just because someone wanted their seat on an outgoing wagon train. We were still a month from the sea thawing even as we should have been plowing the fields. The only chance of prosperity and abundance was to go west, even if all we had to go off of at that point was rumors that other settlements fared better.

"Folks would have sold their soul to get hired on a caravan, if only there was anyone buying. They'd volunteer to walk the whole way if it meant they could share in the protection of the group. Young girls would agree to marry men twice their age, or be forced into it by their fathers. In exchange for passage." She had to pause a moment. These memories seemed to take a toll on her. Hollis simply leaned against one of the columns nearby. He noticed that Willo had woken up and was listening in.

"Sure I could have gotten a seat. All my book learning and doctoring. Could have gotten my husband a spot too. He was a good enough laborer if you put the iron to him. Could get a spot for Paul, sure; a doctor's son always gets a spot.

"But then there would be others. Those whose spot on the caravan Paul would take and those whose vittles he would share. He eats a lot, you've seen that. That's not even counting what ends up on his shirt.

"Tell me you would share food with him even when your daughters are starving so bad their hair is falling out, when you've been stalked by stone cats for fifty miles and cannot take a break. Tell me Paul wouldn't go missing in the woods like so many other inconvenient people in the world. Tell me that he would be safe when no one is safe. That the warriors and prize fighters and survivalists would put their own lives on the line for him.

"I don't see his chances as being so great. The story of our resettlement of the abandoned continent will be told by the survivors, but they aren't going to tell all the stories, I promise. So much will go unsaid by the heroes on the way to the Pass.

"Kaziers take a little extra time to get that. You all came here for the thrill of survival, but you don't even know what that means. You weren't here for the worst of the trials and tribulations of this abandoned continent, but you will be here for the worst to come if you live long enough." Hollis didn't know what to say. He had spent so much time studying the dangers of the flora and fauna that he never really considered the dangers that his fellow man represented.

That part was not included in the game, outside of the random thief or thug.

"Goodnight," Tawny said as she stood, poured back whatever she had been drinking, and walked toward the great metal door. It was finally time to sleep. ~-~ The next morning was a busy one. It was finally time to harvest his walking stick after so much time growing. Like those described on the inspector, grown by the master craftsman Thompson Sr., Hollis had grown his so that the leaves would form at the bottom and he could lop the finished stick off the top. He had no reason to do it other than because he could.

The walking stick was almost his height. That was not standard, but it was what he pictured in his head. He figured it was better to make it too long than too short, though both problems would be fixable. One was easier. He sawed through it with his serrated knife, making clean, gentle strokes, carrying away sawdust one bite at a time until he had finished it.

Another benefit of doing it this way was that after having harvested his walking stick there remained a healthy growing tree, although it was only the size of a bush now. It was the first of the Great Bee Gum's scions to be planted in the world, but because he planted it before the barter he made with the great tree, he didn't get any reward for it. He had to plant in new, interesting places for such a boon.

His blood, sweat, and tears had gone into crafting this walking stick, and that was literal when it came to the Blood. He was in a hurry, so he had to rush things along. Having imbued this plant with his own Spirit, it came to life, and he felt a lingering connection to it, though it felt distant and he wasn't certain what use it might have just yet.

After taking his pocket knife to the stick to carve away any rough edges or excessive bark, he found it quite comfortable to hold, though it was a bit heavier than it should have been because it was filled with water to the point that it far exceeded its realistic capacity. He placed the sawed-off end into the ground to see how difficult it might be to get it to take root. It wasn't difficult at all. With just a suggestion of Breath and Mind, the stick was already transforming at the end, digging into the earth.

This ability, called Take Root, scaled off his level 4 Cultivation skill. It got the results he was looking for. He even found it easy enough to uproot the walking stick, though he had to turn it over because the root end wasn't as good for use as an actual hiking aid. At the moment, all it was good for was finding and summoning water, although with time he would unlock many of its innate abilities and add a few extras while he was at it. One day it would be a proper water staff capable of great magic.

But that day he didn't have time to sit around and daydream about it. He had to make preparations. By morning light, he observed the wall-barriers he had created, imagining how they might divert the flow of the fog away from Tawny's garden. These wall panels were good practice for building a shelter. It would only take three of them if he were to build it against a tree, but even at his fastest it wouldn't be fast enough to please him. Unfortunately, it was his best option.

Days ago, he tried to remember the name of the crafted item he had seen in the game that let a player create instant, secure shelter, and the inspector immediately told him it was a Quick-Shelter. Periapt rarely messed around with its naming schemes. Fire starter made fire, and a Quick-Shelter would quickly become shelter. If only he could make one. Unfortunately, he had yet to manage it.

He put an extra skill point into Crafting just to see if he would suddenly be imbued with inspiration and understanding beyond what the inspector had already told him, but he wasn't. A Quick-Shelter was a pretty simple graft, where a plant-based fabric was imbued with the ability to grow thick bark. As far as grafts went, that shouldn't be too difficult. It wasn't like he was giving a wooden bird the ability to fly. His now level 5 Crafting ability would have been sufficient.

The problem was, just because he had the knowledge of how to do it didn't mean he actually could. The skill system of Periapt allowed a Kazier to essentially change their past, transform their body, give them faint memories of a life they never lived, and access all the knowledge they might have gained through rigorous study. But that didn't mean that when he reached down and attempted to transfer a magical power from one plant to another, it came naturally.

In fact, he had attempted it many times before he realized how difficult it actually was. [How do you craft a Quick-Shelter? you ask, after building up the courage. The same way you craft a coffin if you don't do it right. Thompson Sr. says.] Every time he tried to invoke his memories from another life, the inspector would repeat that same or similar exchange of dialogue. He couldn't act surprised. It was characteristic of the genre.

Was there some combination of words that might allow him a different answer or insight, or was it simply a question of practice? Either way, he would bring a flax canvas big enough for the task, just to practice on his journey north. He felt silly doing it. All the canvas was going to do was take up space that would be better spent on an extra blanket, but Hollis knew that in those quiet hours sitting in his old-fashioned shelter he would need something to occupy his mind with.

He hoped he wouldn't need a Quick-Shelter anytime soon. ~-~ NOW THE NORTHERN WOODS The miner's lice were getting tired of chasing Royle. Maybe they were even smart enough to realize they were being picked off one by one by Hollis' rifle shots. Whatever the case, the distraction provided by the horseman was running thin.

More and more of the lice were braving their way closer and closer toward the false fire, toward Hollis, as he frantically attempted to graft the armored bark of the magical pecan tree he had found into the flax fabric in his hands. It wasn't working. Soon the lice would close in on him, despite Willo's best efforts to create distractions with his will o' the wisps and shining Warning Beacons off at any creature that dared come close. Hollis needed to buy time, and he knew one of the fastest ways.

"Put two points into Storytelling," he said aloud. The inspector rattled off a story about how, in his life in Periapt, he had grown accustomed to relaying oral histories his grandmother had taught him, but Hollis didn't read it. He might later, if he survived. Willo's Will o' Wisp and Warning Beacon abilities both scaled off Storytelling.

With a couple extra points in the skill, bringing him up to a total of 4, the bugs, even those who had gotten brave and were closing in, suddenly skittered back away into the darkness. Willo flew out, shooting off copies of himself that haunted the forest like ghosts, chasing the bugs, even managing to scare away those lice that were following Royle and Jaq. It had worked, for a moment, but it wouldn't work much longer. He had spent two skill points, and within a few minutes the lice were already back.

At the end of the day, even the greatest deception can't keep working over and over again, magic or no magic. That didn't stop Willo from doing his best to scare them away with his flashing Warning Beacons and ghostly apparitions. Hollis took another shot at one of the bigger miner's lice and then turned back around to grab the flax canvas and attempt once again to imbue it with bark armor.

As he pressed it up against the pecan tree, for a moment he felt something strange, as if he weren't just touching it with his hands. It was as if his physical hand had passed right through the canvas and touched the bark. His Spirit dropped by a point. It had already been dropping as Willo depleted it using his abilities, but he was certain that in all the excitement he had activated his own Spirit. He had almost done it. He had nearly used Spirit in order to craft.

If he was going to succeed, it would take more than just one accidental burst. He focused again. He focused on the pain of his missing Spirit. Spirit ▰▰▰▰▰▰▱▱▱▱▱ [6/11] He tried once more, not knowing how many more attempts he would get.