The Old Man of the Mountain (1)
In the Lower World. The far north. A living hell that had once belonged to humans but was no longer their territory. A group of people found themselves stranded by an unexpected blizzard. Their desperate prayers must have reached someone, for the foul weather eventually ceased, yet the Black Horn tribe still failed to reach the landmark by late evening. In a mountain range that swallowed men whole, that was as good as a death sentence.
The young man leading the way, Jordi, swallowed hard and nearly choked on his own spit. The cold that rattled his bones was not the only thing he needed to fear. Even after that crimson sunset toppled beyond the mountain ridge, the snow would remain stained red. With the blood of Jordi and his fellow tribespeople.
Strange, grotesque howls echoed across the twilight-tinged snowfield. Old women and children screamed. Jordi, like the other able-bodied men, thrust his torch in every direction and stumbled backward. Then he collided with something behind him.
Snow shaken from a branch pattered onto his shoulder. Jordi flinched violently, spun around, and only then clutched his chest in relief. What had bumped into his waist was a scrawny, leafless tree that appeared to be sleeping while awaiting a short spring. Or so it had seemed.
Until the moment a spark from the torch landed on it and the dried bark twitched violently.
The dead tree had not mistaken the stinging warmth for spring and awakened. No. The creature had merely been pretending to be part of the forest, waiting for them all along.
Jordi trembled like a frightened puppy and slowly lifted his gaze. In the fading sunset it appeared only as a pitch-black silhouette. Eight feet tall, crimson eyes staring down at him from above the height of a tree. The outline of its wide-open maw ironically resembled a wildflower. Several long, skeletal arms like branches slowly unfurled and stretched toward the sky.
Unfortunately, Jordi’s two feet had missed their chance to flee and now seemed glued to the ground. All he could do was brace himself.
The abyss monster’s maw drew near in an instant. The moment he smelled the blood-tainted breath, Jordi screamed.
“Duck.”
A powerful hand slammed the back of Jordi’s head down into the snow. Perhaps because he had never been eaten before, the young man might have misunderstood. He thought for certain that the eight-foot-tall demon’s mouth was chewing on his skull.
So when he realized he was still alive and raised his head again, Jordi wore a truly priceless expression.
“Ah…?”
The sunset had lost its fury, yet no red stained the mountain path. What had been sprayed across the snowfield was the black blood of an abyssal fiend. The eight-foot-tall demon, its waist severed before it could even scream, tilted like a withered tree and collapsed into the piled snow, buried beneath it.
The surroundings darkened in an instant. The monsters’ roars echoed. A pack of eight-foot-tall demons burst forth, shattering snow and branches with thunderous noise. The tribespeople instinctively huddled together in a tight circle. Children began to sob. So did the adults.
Yet even after the monsters’ final howls faded, not a single person was dragged away and devoured.
“It’s over.”
The voice that replaced the monsters’ growling spoke in the Nordin tongue. The moment he caught human speech in the pitch darkness, Jordi swung his torch forward with a trembling hand. Then he drew his dagger with a groan.
The man wearing a white wooden mask had sheathed his longsword at his waist and now raised both empty hands. As if to show he meant no harm.
Seeing both of the stranger’s hands drenched in blood, Jordi’s breathing grew ragged.
“I said it’s fine.”
“What the hell do you mean it’s fine!”
“Any of the big ones that charged without thinking are dead. The rest should have received sufficient warning.”
It almost sounded like a threat: Do you want to die by rushing in recklessly? So Jordi gripped his dagger hilt more tightly.
The masked man sighed and stepped closer, wrapping his hand around the one holding the blade. The motion had not been fast, yet Jordi could not swing in time.
“It means there’s no need for this. It’s no longer dangerous.”
No longer dangerous? Was this stranger claiming that the man-eating demons had been so easily dealt with? Jordi found the words hard to believe. But one thing was certain…
“If any living monsters remained, they would have already attacked. Don’t you think?”
Those words broke the Nordin youth’s courage. This was not an opponent a single dagger could kill. While Jordi hesitated, still pointing his blade in an awkward stance, the biting wind pierced his leather clothes and he abandoned the idea. Wasting stamina in this weather meant there might be no tomorrow.
The moment he decided to sheathe his weapon, the masked man released his hand. Jordi’s eyes wavered once more.
“Why are you wearing that pale mask, damn it? I thought you were one of the monsters.”
The man in the mask, which revealed only his eye sockets, simply blinked for a long while without answering. Only when Jordi was about to ask again did he finally speak.
“…My face was badly injured. When the cold wind hits it, the pain is unbearable. I know. By old custom I should remove the mask and show you my face. But please indulge me this once. I am too old to stand in the freezing wind without any cover.”
Jordi’s ragged breath froze and scattered in the air. The man’s eyes narrowed behind the mask.
“Meeting on the road is a joy that blesses one’s journey. However, this is poor weather for long conversation outdoors.”
“What do you want to say?”
Though fully guarded, the blunt honesty in his tone was typical of the Nordin people. The masked man smiled with his eyes and pointed into the distance. Now that everything had grown dark, a faint, gentle glow stood out. A few in the group sighed in relief at what it implied, but Jordi did not immediately accept the suggestion.
To the Nordin, who lived at the edge of the world, sharing fire and shelter with strangers was the same as owing one’s life.
“Our tribe does not easily trust kindness from outsiders.”
“It is neither a trap nor charity. I simply have more than I need, so I wouldn’t mind sharing. Whether you join me or not, the fire will burn regardless.”
Jordi felt the children’s hopeful gazes on his back. He bit his lip, then nodded. If they refused, they would freeze to death.
“Thank you for saving us. What is your name?”
“I’ve grown old and forgotten it. I have no name worth giving.”
“What do your friends call you?”
The eyes behind the mask narrowed even further.
“Orkos.”
“Thank you, Orkos.”
When snow piled high enough to bury even a large tree, the branches could serve as roof beams to create a small snow cave. The one Orkos had found was large enough to hold all twenty tribespeople with room to spare. Of course they still had to huddle slightly, but it was far better than becoming one with the frozen landscape.
One of the children, who had been sniffling while regaining body heat, suddenly brightened and crawled toward the campfire in the center of the cave. After starving and freezing, the sight of meat skewered on wooden sticks was impossible to resist. But an old woman grabbed the child by the scruff and yanked him back roughly.
“Don’t be so overly cautious. It’s not poisoned.”
Orkos picked up a piece of meat from beside the fire and approached on his knees. The tribespeople flinched and drew back. Orkos looked around at them slowly. The tribespeople showed strangely little gratitude for the help. They asked for no repayment, nor did they beg for further aid. Instead they watched him with frostbitten eyes full of wariness.
The moment Orkos tried to place the well-roasted skewer in the child’s hand, the old woman bared her teeth and drew a bone dagger. The young men panicked and tried to stop her. The old woman muttered something in the old tongue and spat on the ground.
“In remote places, it is only natural to be wary of strangers. Especially an Imperial who should not be appearing in a place like this.”
Jordi, who had been watching Orkos’s reaction, offered an excuse. Orkos scratched his eyelid beneath the mask.
“Not the Empire. The Federation. I wasn’t trying to hide it, but I’m curious how you knew. I didn’t think my accent was that obvious.”
“It was only a guess. If it had been another tribe, they would have flown into a rage at the word ‘Imperial’ and demanded to know which tribe I came from. What business brings you to this far north?”
“I didn’t come to steal. You and the old woman both already know that.”
“How would we know that?”
“Take another guess. If I were a bandit, I would have been on the road. On a much less freezing mountain path used by merchants far wealthier than the Nordin. Then we would never have met.”
Several members of the Black Horn tribe stiffened. The words were true. Ordinary travelers did not lose their way inside the Fangtooth Mountains. Nor did they attempt to break through a blizzard while dragging children and elders. In other words, neither Jordi’s group nor Orkos were simple passersby.
“I’ll ask the opposite. What business brings you wandering these mountains?”
“Do not meddle in our tribe’s affairs.”
“Then don’t answer. I haven’t spoken of my own business either. I’ve heard the Nordin do not like people prying into secrets.”
“I’m glad you understand.”
“I have no choice but to understand. I also find guests with too many questions troublesome.”
When the old woman with the bone knife muttered something again, Jordi translated.
“She says you should leave at once. The gods are angry. This is not land permitted to outsiders.”
The jagged Fangtooth Mountains, like the teeth of a beast, formed the boundary separating the Human Union from the Nordin tundra. Had it been possible to send armies across these mountains, the Nordin—who were little more than scattered clans—would likely have vanished long ago. They would have been conquered or absorbed by the Federation’s civilization long before.
The intruder from the Federation smiled faintly.
“Leave? You want me to leave after warming myself by my own fire in my own shelter?”
The old woman fell silent. That was the end of the conversation that night. Orkos showed no particular hostility. He simply spread out his sleeping bag and lay down ostentatiously beside the fire, leaving the guests to stare suspiciously at the back of his head. He did not seem to entertain even the slightest worry that he might be stabbed to death in his sleep.
Yet the next morning, the Federation man was no longer inside his sleeping bag. A startled Jordi rushed outside and looked around. Far off, someone waved a hand. He had returned only after dawn, carrying several pale eight-foot-tall demon heads tucked under his arm.
“The rest ran away. At least they won’t be following us anymore. The first one I caught was the leader, so it saved me some trouble.”
Jordi stood with his mouth agape. Only after a moment did he regain his senses.
“I was late with introductions. I am Jordi of the Black Horn tribe.”
“Maybe it’s just my imagination, but your tone has become much more polite.”
“I apologize for asking something so direct to my benefactor, but where are you headed?”
“Why do you want to know my destination?”
“I’m not trying to pry. It’s just…”
Even while saying he was sorry, Jordi brought up the main point without hesitation. Orkos, who had listened quietly, readily agreed.
“Very well. While our paths overlap, I will watch over you. It doesn’t seem to be very far from where I’m going.”
“Thank you.”
Jordi, his cheeks gaunt, rummaged through his pack and pulled out several pieces of strange, dried travel rations. The meager repayment carried the smell of sweat. Orkos silently declined. Thus their dry companionship began.
“Just once, can’t you take the mask off?”
The tribespeople’s wariness had eased considerably, and in proportion they had grown far more talkative. Yet Orkos never grew angry. In fact, he rarely showed any emotional fluctuation at all. Though he was in no position to judge others, Jordi concluded that the man was a good traveling companion. Surprisingly so, for a southerner.
“Didn’t you say you were familiar with Nordin culture? The Nordin do not usually associate with those they have not met before.”
“Don’t the Nordin also wear masks often?”
“Only when there is ritual significance. Some tribes wear masks to guard against Changelings. So their souls won’t be stolen.”
“Ah, Changelings. A truly vile kind of monster.”
Wearing a mask would do nothing against a Changeling, but when life grew harsh, superstition easily overrode logic.
“But in everyday situations, you must not wear one. People need to know what you look like…”
“So they can become close?”
“No. So they can take revenge if necessary. You really don’t know, do you?”
Unless one was a shaman, hiding one’s appearance was taboo among most Nordin tribes. The land north of the mountains was barren. Child abductions and cannibalism were commonplace. Without even the minimal insurance of fear of retaliation, no one could be trusted. In this land ruled by savagery, concealing one’s identity meant being treated as an assassin and persecuted.
“Those who hide their faces are often shot with arrows on the spot. The custom is to cut off their breath before they can flee.”
Jordi bit his lip once and added, “The elders always tell me to make sure to pass that on.”
“There is a reason customs exist. I tend to respect young people who value tradition. However, with all due respect to tradition and its inheritors, I must refuse once again.”
Yet Orkos simply shook his head quietly, just as he had done every time before. The Nordin youth no longer pressed the matter. This was already the sixth refusal he had heard. The elders chattered viciously, poking Jordi in the ribs, but whether they incited him or not, Orkos simply walked at the tribe’s pace.
Jordi was gradually beginning to feel something close to respect for this man from the Federation.