Chapter Thirty-One: Return to the Snowfields

On a morning without wind, Wade pushed aside the stone and stepped out of the cave. Morning might not be the best word, but Wade could only call the time just after he woke up his morning.

He hadn’t come out for fresh air in eight whole days. Being “confined” in the small cave was a depressing experience, though thankfully he had things to occupy himself, filling the idle hours so he wouldn’t go mad with boredom.

He looked up at the moon; the gap in it was growing larger, as if someone had taken a giant bite out of it.

Mia soared over the sandy ground at the base of the hill, clearly restless herself.

Wade stretched at the cave entrance. Today, he had no intention of venturing far—only to take a walk and lift his spirits.

His plan was simple: play some games with Mia by the door, then stand atop the slope and survey the land like a king.

The storm hadn’t changed the environment much. This place had always been a barren wasteland where not even birds bothered to stop. In the desert, dust storms rose daily; what could possibly change? The only visible difference was that the wandering skeletons occasionally seen had been blown far away by the wind, bringing a welcome peace.

After inspecting his territory, Wade drew out a thorn branch to practice swordplay at his door. He had whittled the thorn into the shape of a sword, with a hilt and blade, lighter than a real sword, but suitable as a practice weapon. He used it to review his techniques.

He played with Mia using this wooden sword; to the little spirit, it seemed only a game.

Mia, with her ability to float and fly, dodged the tip of the wooden blade easily. She was quick and small, much improved from when she first appeared. Sven’s soul had been completely digested and absorbed by her, and her form had finally solidified. She had even gained a new ability.

She could control her own vaporization, and it had become her default state.

As was her habit, she kept only her upper body in solid form; her waist and below remained misty. When the sword nearly touched her, her body sometimes dispersed like fog, only to reconstitute elsewhere.

Ephemeral, elusive—she matched the popular image of a spirit.

Physical attacks had little effect on spirits. Unless the spirit allowed contact, it was nearly impossible to touch them.

Swords and blunt weapons could hardly harm such ethereal beings. They were too insubstantial—a feather drifting before your eyes, even if struck with a hammer, what would it accomplish?

Even when Wade’s blade struck her, the little spirit only giggled.

It seemed that no matter how hard he tried, she wouldn’t feel a thing.

But since it was merely play, Wade kept his movements gentle.

The day passed just so.

Nothing remarkable happened. He practiced swordsmanship for a while, swept away the sand piled at his door, watered the glowing moss, and sat at the cave mouth, watching the little spirit flit around him.

Sometimes, he reached out and caught the little one, and before he knew it, it was time to rest.

Time seemed to pass faster than when he was shut inside the cave.

In any case, it was time to sleep.

Wade blocked the cave entrance with a stone. He reviewed the patterns carved into his ruler one last time, and memorized the runes on that shattered gemstone as well.

It wasn’t that he had a good memory—he was simply so bored that he’d traced them countless times.

Unfortunately, he didn’t know how to use the magical ornament. Since bringing it back, he’d never managed to activate its magical barrier.

Perhaps it was broken, or perhaps it would only work properly in the hands of a mage.

Just in case, he wore the ring on his index finger, wanting to see if he could bring objects from here into “the dream.”

Having prepared, he lay down on the shroud.

Mia settled into her own little bed, burrowing under the covers and leaving only her head exposed.

“Goodnight,”

Wade entered his rest.

—

He awoke again in the dream.

He picked up the twenty-sided die; his heart was saturated with crimson.

Like a parched pond receiving a small rain, the translucent door before him rippled with water-like waves.

Mia did not appear in his dream—unless he brought her in, she would simply rest as usual.

Before crossing the threshold, Wade decided to bring Mia along.

He wasn’t comfortable leaving the little one alone in the cave. If she woke and he wasn’t up yet, she would make a racket, perhaps even disturb his dream—better to set out together.

That snowy plain was her homeland, after all; she might wish to see it again.

Wade reached out and caught the little spirit as she flew toward him.

Holding the die in his left hand, standing before the door, he threw it.

He heard the sound of his heart beating, the strong pulse.

Wade stepped forward, passing through the door.

In an instant, his feet were upon the snow.

He saw a golden line—the dawn, the sun rising at the edge of the horizon.

Distant snow glowed with a veil of gold; white snow piled atop fir trees; the world was blanketed in white. A cold wind blew toward him, birds hopped on branches, shaking loose clumps of snow mixed with dead leaves.

Wade looked back—behind him, there was nothing resembling a door.

He was utterly naked, save for the tiny spirit he carried in his hands, and his bones.

It seemed nothing from the other place could be brought here; only a new incarnation arrived at the snowy plain.

Gradually, he discerned some rules. Unlike last time, he didn’t appear in the hunter’s cabin.

All around were houses made of wood, stone, and turf.

There were charred logs and the main structure of a house—this was the village, the Tania settlement invaded by Viking pirates.

He recalled this alley—it was where he left his left arm.

To lure Sven, he had detached his own left arm, installed it on a pirate corpse, and set up a trigger mechanism for a crossbow.

He couldn’t mistake it; it was the same alley.

But the pirate corpse was gone, and the bloodstains and charred houses were all buried beneath the snow.

The village was silent—no movement, no footsteps, no calls from livestock.

Apart from the jay on the roof preening its gray-brown feathers, Wade sensed no living thing.

He circled out of the alley, discovering that the villagers seemed to have left.

Livestock, fodder, and most portable belongings appeared to have been taken.

Inside the houses, traces of packed belongings could be seen.

The villagers hadn’t left in haste—they had prepared and migrated together, likely deciding that after the Viking invasion, the place was no longer fit for habitation. So they abandoned their homeland and moved toward another settlement.

If he could find tracks of their migration, perhaps he could reach a more prosperous town, where information was easier to obtain. They were likely seeking protection from the local lord.

He would try to follow.

But first, he had something he had to do.

Wade walked to the village reservoir. Broken wooden beams and collapsed stone were all sunken toward the bottom.

The marks of the explosion were obvious—the fireball unleashed by the imp had detonated the reservoir, causing the whole area to cave in.

It appeared the villagers hadn’t had the energy to clear the ruins; there were no signs of excavation.

The extraordinary longsword engraved with runes must still be buried beneath the frozen earth.