Soulitude- second season

by JC Borch

Chapter 3: Pilgrimage

I have seen a few things since coming to the frozen north. I’ve been attacked by wolves, I have hunted down smugglers and I have cleansed a ship from my undead kin. Yet through it all the thought of werewolves frighten me most. Out of all things, even the dark cloud looming over my head, only werewolves are something that I have yet to encounter. Not even in my world did we have them. What could they possibly be? I’m meeting up with the Skaal who will hopefully be able to enlighten me.

CHAPTER 3 PART 1: MAKING A CHOICE

“The council is still debating on your words. You have earned our respect, but not our trust. To remedy this you must perform the Test of Loyalty.” The guard, like the others, was draped in thick, coarse leather and a priceless mace dangled from his belt. Blue stripes across his face marked his rank among the Skaal. “Go to our shaman, outlander. Speak with Korst Wind-Eye and be on your way.”

The guard had nothing further to say, but tossed his head west from the Greathall where he was standing. Lars eyed the stallion suspiciously, but followed the instructions nonetheless. The Shaman’s Hut was off to a side, one of the larger ones and separated from the other huts. The interior was bare, with little furniture, but it was warm. Korst was wrapped in leathers and furs as well, but it gave him the appearance of wearing a coat rather than armour. Even his hooves were adorned with little shoes. His coat, only visible on his face, was green like wet grass and his long mane flowing down his back was periwinkle.

“You are the human that has been causing all the ruckus. The village is abuzz with rumours you’ve been spreading.”

Lars stepped inside and closed the door behind him, shrugging the cold off him. “They are not rumours. I am speaking the truth as clearly as I saw it,” he replied. Korst swung his hoof to a pair of benches opposite each other with a fire pit between them.

“There certainly were a lot of implications in your little speech in the Greathall the other day. I’m glad I didn’t miss it. A shame how the hopeful and the fearful has twisted it.”

The fire crackled as Lars sat down on the bench. Fire illuminated his face in the relatively dimness of the room. It was still dark in the farthest corner and only a small circle around was pit was lighted as there were no windows. “I hope the council will make the right decision. If taking this test of loyalty will help me towards that end, then I’ll do it.”

“It’s not going to be easy, outlander.” Korst prodded at the fire with a stick, the flames swimming in his eyes along with memories. “Regardless of what has happened, the Skaal are losing their power. The creatures of this land are getting out of our control. Dark clouds hang over our heads. Your people coming here are to blame for this, at least partly. You must make the pilgrimage if we are to fix the disturbances.”

Lars shifted his weight on the seat. “Pilgrimage? I’m not a religious man, just saying,” he said and straightened his back.

Korst chuckled and remained hunched over on the bench, his face near the warm embers. “This will not be a religious experience, do not worry. The balance, or harmony, of the Oneness must be restored and there are a number of tasks to be performed to reach that end. Here.” From inside his clothes Korst dragged out a small, leather-bound book.

Lars accepted it and leafed through it with a cursory glance. “A diary?” he asked, finding a rough map that he judged to be the frozen wasteland from his last look at a map. “And a few markings. What is this?”

“The Story of Aevar Stone-Singer, the first Skaal to find the stones. He marked all their locations and we go to them for prayer and guidance. Now is the time to repeat his journey. You must understand who we Skaal are and why this land is so important to us. For this journey, the trip will be as important as the destination. I hope you can understand, or at least will come to.” The shaman looked up at Lars with tired eyes.

The markings were spread out all over the wasteland. Some of the stones, like the one of Wind and Beast, were close, whereas the ones of Tree and Sun were much further away. The Earth stone was close to Raven Rock and the Water stone also close. “Is there any order to these stones or can I pick any route I’d like?” Lars asked, and the shaman shook his head. He studied the map on his lap for a moment before finally tracing it contraclockwise with a finger. “If I do this, it will bring me closer to you as a people?” The shaman nodded. “And you will answer any question I have?” Again the shaman nodded, but only after a longer deliberation.

“What do you wish to know? The fort only wants to know how to get rid of us.”

“Not true, I’m sure they’re as curious about you as I am.” Lars scratched his chin while trying to put words to the first question. “I’m looking for someone like myself and you know a lot about the land. I was hoping you could help me.”

“Someone like yourself? It is true that you are a most singular individual yet I can’t help but feel a certain familiarity. I will look into it while you are gone,” Korst said and stood up from his bench.

Lars followed suit with the little book disappearing into the folds of his uniforms and the map still clutched in his hand. “Then I will hurry back, though… this is probably going to take me a while to complete.” The two of them shared a courteous bow before Lars went out into the village again.

There was a quiet calm about the village. Unlike the fort that seemed beset with worry and anxiety, the Skaal were relaxed and went about their normal business. There was a tanner at the opposite edge of town, a blacksmith that Lars passed on his way out and hunters stringing their bows on porches. None of them paid any mind to him, almost defiantly so. They must have known the ideas he represented. Rather than facing the changes, they hoped to ignore them and wait for their superiors to make a decision. Lars left the village behind as unnoticed as he had entered.

The first stone was far to the southwest, across a long bridge spanning a raging river and through forests alternating with rugged terrain filled with snow. The usual assortment of animals came to bother him but he managed to stay mostly clear of trouble. The Water Stone protruded majestically like a tall pillar, a beacon for all to see for miles. Waves were carved into its surface. He touched them, and as he did, a voice spoke in his ears.

“Travel west to the river and follow the Swimmer to the Waters of Life.”

“Well that was weird,” he said and pulled away from the rock, like his fingers were glued to the surface. “At least it has accepted me.”

He scaled the slanting cliffs to reach the ice-filled river. The waters were slow and plates of ice were thick on the surface. The cold liquid lapped at his feet like a thirsty cat would drink from its bowl. It was a clear day with little wind. He could see far and wide out over the river and to the expansive wasteland beyond. Somewhere down the course of it Raven Rock lay.

There was a small eyot a short distance north of his position. From it he heard strange sounds, almost like a walrus or a sea lion. What the difference was he had never memorised despite reading about them and even seeing them in the zoo. That had been a long time ago, arguably. It just hit him how ponies didn’t really keep animals in cages like that. There were useful animals that they had gone into partnerships with. Like sheep that provided them with wool and to whom they offered protection in turn. And pigs. What they were keeping pigs for he hadn’t found out. Maybe truffles? The honking brought him out of his train of thoughts.

The water looked icy, but as dipped his boots into it, he felt nothing but the honking in his ears. Neither warmth nor cold. Just the beckoning animal noise. His entire body sank into the water with his eyes set on the small island. He got closer and closer until he could see the creature calling out to him. A seal sat on a large flake of ice, except it looked like no seal he had ever seen. It was covered in dark fur and where its mouth should be was a long skin tube with tendrils sticking out. It hopped into the water as he drew closer and fast disappeared into the water.

“Follow the Swimmer, eh?” he mumbled to himself and scratched his cheek. “That must be you then.”

Lars dipped into the water with face and everything. Still he felt nothing. Not even the urge to breathe or close his eyes. He could see as well as on land. The honking continued, now acting as a guide for him. Deeper and deeper he followed the Swimmer. Anyone but the most professional divers could not have made the trip without aching for air. But Lars simply swam after the majestic creature.

The Swimmer stopped at the very bottom of the deep river where a natural cave awaited him. The weird seal hovered above the entrance, clearly wanting him to go inside with its nodding and pointing with head and flipper. Inside he found a pocket of air. Snow crunched under his feet and echoed off the ice walls. Shaking off the water, he discovered himself to be completely dry. Even his hair was crisp and untouched. He looked behind him where the Swimmer looked at him through the pool of water. Its eyes were small and blacker than its fur, but there seemed to be endless wisdom in them.

“How strange,” he noted to himself while rubbing his arms from an invisible chill. “I can almost feel your presence watching over me.”

The seal thing said nothing, but simply honked out loud. Lars took it as his cue to press onwards. The walls of ice narrowed and widened at random. At times he needed to squeeze through small gaps and other times he almost felt the enormity crush him. It was mostly straightforward, and he could at last feel the coolness around him, but the route took him through sharp turns from time to time. He ended up in a chamber with more snow on the ground and ice taking up most of the space at the far end.

On top of a large block of ice, like the tongue of a giant lolling out, lay his price: a black flask. The skeleton of a pony still guarded it in death, its strong arms wrapped around it like a treasure worth more to it than life. He climbed up the slanted, slippery surface with his eyes locked on the Waters of Life. His foot slipped and he nearly fell down again. When he had managed to finally drag himself up, somepony awaited him.

With a shield still strapped to its arm and a steel sword in its mouth, the skeletal pony looked at him with its empty sockets. It tilted its skull to one side, perhaps so that it could better look at him. He jumped up on top, but found the rugged surface hard to stand on. He simply dug his golden boots into the cracks. His silver sparksword gave a distinct ring as it left its sheath. The skeletal pony hissed at him disapprovingly.

Lars held the sword tip at its face. “I just want the flask. Hand it over and no will get hurt.” The pony did not need long to deliberate on it. It sprang forward with the sword slicing at him. He stepped out of the way, and the pony landed next to him at the edge of the ice block. “The undead never listen. But then, I’ve found very few who do.”

Electrical sparks licked the sword, casting eerie shadows across the chamber. The walls themselves seemed to give off light, but only barely. His sword was able to outshine it. When it swung, the shadows danced quickly from wall to wall, down the floor and up to the ceiling. The pony had been a warrior and had not forgotten its skills. It blocked Lars’ swings with its shield and followed up with strike from its sword. Lars dodged and weaved to find an opening. He prodded, stabbed and hacked away.

The bones were not the crystal of the draugr. In fact, they seemed almost brittle from soaking and freezing and thawing and then freezing all over again and again. His first contact shattered the left shoulder. The whole arm fell apart. The rusty round shield clanged down the shelf and landed in the soft snow. The pony could no longer keep itself up, but still shook its head with the sword. The mobility was lost however. Lars quickly danced around it before it could drag itself along. His sword sunk deep into its spine. Mighty jolts surrounded its body. All animation ceased. The undead pony disintegrated into its base parts.

Lars wiped the sweat from his brow and sheathed the sword. “Not as young as I used to be, but I can still manage, it seems.” A low ringing, like a chord being ceaselessly activated, reminded him of his task. The black flask still stood in the middle of the ice block. “And I’ve earned my price as well, it seems. Do I drink this or what?”

Regardless of how he tried, however, the flask would not open for him. The stopper would not budge despite his best efforts. The Swimmer called out to him again with its moaning groans. He returned the way he came, carefully jumping down the shelf, crossing the chamber, snaking through the walls of ice and finally came back to the strange animal beckoning him. It disappeared down below the surface and he followed it, enjoying the same smooth ride he did last time. In no time at all, Lars was back up on dry land. It all felt like a dream. He was still not wet and the Swimmer had disappeared as well. All that was left was the flask in his hand. He took it back to the Water Stone where the voice called out to him again.

“You have returned the Gift of Water to the Skaal. The oceans again will bear fruit, and their thirst will be quenched.”

The pillar pulsated with light, but it was only the first of six. Lars sat down on a rock by the pillar, reading further into the story and consulting with his map. The next stone was further into the land, not far from Raven Rock. It took him quite a walk in avoiding frothing rivers and keeping to the path so as not to get lost. The rocky, snowy landscape changed to temperate forest. There he could see the Earth Stone on a small hill. Upon his touch the voice spoke to him again:

“Enter the Cave of the Hidden Music, and hear the Song of the Earth.”

He jerked himself free and shook his head. His face spoke volumes of the overwhelming experience involved with the mysterious and yet somehow familiar voice. It was probably just from having heard it a few times by then.

“Another cave? And of music of all things… Well, time to polish up on my third grade lessons,” he muttered to himself while taking out the map. Plenty of locations were noted on it. Among them were several small additions from past pilgrims. A route had been scribbled from the Earth Stone to a place northeast, back into the frozen wilderness. He gave a resigned sigh and continued his trek.

The Cave of the Hidden Music was impossible to miss. Stones as black as night were assembled against the snowy hillside with a round door in the middle. The first chamber was small and the only one that had actually been done something about. The hall that followed twisted and slithered up and down. So though not occupying a large amount a land, Lars still had to traverse a good distance. From every corner he rounded was also a draug. Just to make his job a little harder.

Finally getting to the end was a reward in itself. The chamber even smaller than the first one opened to a large natural cave. Not the roughly hewn tunnels or the decorated rooms, but a real cave with natural paths and large stones obstructing the way at random. A simple melody of four notes played out faintly throughout the room, drawing him closer to four stalagmites in the middle of the floor. Touching one produced a single note. “Heh… I see what’s going on here.”

The small song called out to him again as he experimented with the stones jutting up. Once he had learnt which stalagmite did what, he was ready to replicate the song filling the chamber. The song abruptly ended and, for a moment, it seemed like he was successful but then another song began to play instead. “Just as simple as the first one. Piece of cake.”

He gently touched the stalagmites again. A single note played from it. He repeated that with the other three until he had duplicated the second song. The voice once again called to him.

“The Gift of the Earth is with the Skaal again. The lands are rich again, and will bear life.”

Lars furrowed his brow as he looked up into the indiscernible ceiling. “I swear I’ve heard that voice before.” Even as he made his way out, Lars couldn’t help but keep an eye on his surroundings. “If someone’s mocking me, they’re going to pay dearly.”

Once outside, he found to his delight how close he was to Fort Frostmoth. It was getting late anyway. He would swing by the colony first and then the fort before continuing his pilgrimage early next morning. It was just supposed to have been brief visit but Melon ran up to him as soon as Lars set foot inside Raven Rock. The harbour had been built, along with more buildings. One of them looked to be an inn of some sort.

Melon was finely dressed as usual but also looking rather nervous. He kept avoiding eye contact and instead admired the surroundings and all the building they had gotten done. “Hey there, Lars. What a surprise!” he chuckled and looked up at the human. “W-what brings you here?”

“Is everything all right?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.

Melon nodded feverishly but then waved his hoof towards his ear. Lars bent his head down. Melon looked around as if to make sure no pony was listening in. “There’s something I would like you to consider. You can of course turn me down if you want, I’ll understand,” Melon almost whispered.

Lars couldn’t help but smile heartily. “Melon, what’s gotten into you? If there is anything, just tell me already,” he said and straightened up again

Melon took a deep breath and sighed deeply. “The time has come to make a choice. Trusty Gunner has made as much apparent,” he said, still in a low voice, still keeping an eye on the workers. “Not in so many words, but his ideas for the mine are just monstrous. That pony is unscrupulous and makes the hair on my back stand on end.”

A chill wind howled down from the mountains and sunk its chilly teeth into their flesh. “You want me to pick a side?” he asked after a moment.

Melon nodded, shivering ever so slightly. “Choose wisely, Lars. Trusty Gunner isn’t likely to be happy if you turn against him. I understand completely if you’d rather stay by him.” Though those were his words, his eyes betrayed them. They told the truth, filled with sincerity and pleas.

Lars shifted his weight uncomfortably. “Trusty Gunner is the sponsor, and the one Celestia trusted with this mission. I can’t just betray him. I would be lying, though, if I said didn’t make it run cold down my back as well. Look, I’ll think about this, all right?”

As he left, Melon lifted a hoof in another argument but his politeness prevented him. Lars waved behind him as he went back towards the fort. It truly did gnaw at him to be put into that position. He was lost in thought for the duration of the trip. But even he was not blind to a supernatural presence, unseen but not unfelt, seeming to watch over him. The animals stayed away from him. Only their noises could be heard accompanying him. The dark clouds obscuring the sky were as gloomy as ever. The guards at the fort were no less depressed under the weather. Their eyes shifted quickly. Despite the cold, sweat often lined up under their helmets and dripped uncomfortably down their necks.

Trusty Gunner, contrarily, looked as happy as a stuffed pig. Several reports were scattered on his desk, all of them telling of the great growth spurts. Lars had not planned to visit him but the meeting in Raven Rock nettled him. His heart told him to go with one employer but his military discipline told him to go with another. He entered and saw for the slightest of moments a concerned frown quickly melting into the sickly exuberant smile that he had come to expect. “My friend!” Trusty called out and grinned from ear to ear. “It pleases me that you would come uninvited. Have you perhaps decided to follow me unquestioningly?”

He had to have picked up on the mood as well, probably being the one to instigate it. And now he was making the proposition as well. “I am still contemplating,” Lars answered equably but far less comfortable and confident than usual.

Trusty merely snorted. “Ah, but something drew you to me regardless. Why else would you have come?” There could be something about that. Trusty jumped down from his seat and stamped the floor. His ratty lackey entered with a pitcher of wine and two cups on a tray and placed it on the desk. He slinked out again with his protruding teeth and mangy tail. “Stick with me, my friend, and you will be swimming in all the gold you’d want. The sales are going better than I could have imagined.”

“I am not here for gold. There’s something, someone, that I’m trying to find in the ground. That’s why I’m here.”

“Loyalty weighs heavily on you, does it? Then you already know who you should follow.” Trusty poured himself a healthy cupful and swigged it down like water. Lars was more hesitant and remained dry. “Melon is a good enough fellow, but weak in will and prospect. My methods may not always be, ah… entirely within the law but I am just doing what I think is best for my mine.”

“I’ll sleep on it.”

“Eh? Yes, of course. Dreams are the guide to a man’s soul, and what man wouldn’t want power and wealth!”

Lars went out of the room again with a slight nod. “I suppose,” he muttered and then added, less audible: “Loyalty above all… except honour.”

CHAPTER 3 PART 2: THE SKAAL TEST OF LOYALTY

Early next morning Lars set out again with renewed energy. He was going to take a deviation from the Aevar’s route. As there was no true way to go about it, he could simply take the tests in any order he wanted. And looking on the map showed that taking the Sun Stone next would make for a better route. It required him to traverse the borderlands between the Frozen North and Equestria before seeing the pillar rising high into the sky from a hill. It was almost warm and little snow remained on the dry ground.

His hand touched the rough surface and the pillar ignited in light. “The gentle warmth of the Sun is stolen, so now it only burns. Free the Sun from the Halls of Penumbra,” the solemn voice said. Lars broke free again and nearly tumbled down the hill.

“Halls of Penumbra, then. Let’s see what the book has to say about that.”

Lars turned towards the west again, back the way he had come for such was marked on his map. A small depression in the landscape guided him to a pile of large boulders apparently thrown together at random and then covered in snow. A dirt mound had been raised in front of it with a shabby door set into it. Chill air blasted into his face as he opened it. All surfaces were ice and everywhere the floor was covered in snow. But he had his insulating suit and golden boots. Stalwart he braved the cold and trod inside.

The path seemed to be blocked further ahead however. It seemed to be a cave in after many years of disrepair, but the cave was almost completely dark. It was impossible to see properly. The blockage moved. Spikes of ice rustled as if tasting the air. It turned around, making Lars yelp. The obstacle was alive like nothing out of the real world. Taller than him, looking like a mixture of elephant of human, it was frightening enough to make him take a step back. The claws on its round feet and human hands were ice, as were the tusks on its face. All it was missing was a trunk.

Lars clutched his sword tightly in his hands. Each step from the beast made the roof rumble. Dust of ice drizzled down on them, making it run cold down his back. The beast swiped out at him with its claws while exclaiming a nasal, otherworldly sound. Its portly body did not allow for speed however. He was able to run in between its arms as it finished a swing. The sword slid into its blubbery body. It reared its head and howled in pain. There was no blood. The beast simply crystallised completely before shattering into pieces.

Lars wiped his nose before he could sneeze. “Was that it?” Another beastly howl tore at the air. A pair of red eyes gleamed from further down the hall. Once again Lars raised his sword. “Guess not.”

The Halls of Penumbra were filled with dead ends where many a pony treasure hunter had met their ends. Whether frozen to death or succumbing to their wounds was never clear apart from broken bones and ripped tatters. The beasts were everywhere to be found, roaming around like giant guardians of the ice, threatening to kill him with tusk and claw, or stamping him under their feet. After hours of trial and error, backtracking and monster killing, the corridor finally opened up.

It was perhaps even darker inside the room. Only light was a large pair of glowing orbs right in front of him, along with a smell of stale sea water. His sword filled with sparks and the room became bright enough for him to see just ahead. The orbs reddened and moved. Swish. Lars put up his sword just in time. The claws bit into the blade while the monster howled. It was larger than the others, and its very presence was enough to chill down the room.

“You’re a big boy, aren’t you?” he grunted. There was no way he could keep blocking the hand pressing down on him. He rolled out of the way so that the beast staggered forward. “But not too bright. That’s at least comforting.”

The beast pounded its chest, sending ripples through its blubber. Lars backed up against the back of the room but met only a cold wall of ice. The room was just barely big enough for him and the beast. It snarled and charged him. He quickly moved as the red orbs came at him with dangerous speed. The beast smashed into the ice and stumbled back, swaying back and forth. Lars saw the opportunity and took it. He vaulted up on the beast’s slouched back and grabbed hold of a spike. His sword sank in its flesh. It reared back, cried out in agony and threw him off. Ice covered its entire body before it, like all the others, shattered. But unlike the others, it left something of itself behind. One its eyes, nothing more than a glowing red ball covered in slime, rolled towards him.

Lars picked up the eye curiously. It was warm. Very warm. He had no choice but the quickly throw it away. It splattered against the back wall. Cracks split the hard surface. Water gushed from its wounds. Sunlight streamed in and bathed Lars’ body in warmth. “The Gift of the Sun is the Skaal’s once again. It will warm them and give them light.”

He wasn’t even going to argue with the voice. He only wanted out. As the ice melted, it also provided him a way directly out. He peeked out his head and was nearly blinded by the light. But he smiled regardless. It felt warm outside again. A proud forest of pines and firs opened up before him. Towering out of it was another Stone. That was his next destination, and it wasn’t even midday yet. Lars was pumped for another test.

The Tree Stone was like the others before it but with a tree carved into its side. He took a deep breath before planting his hands on its rough surface.

“The First Trees are gone, and must be replanted. Find the seed and plant the First Tree.”

Such spoke the voice as it had to the first pilgrim so many centuries ago. Setting to his work with fervour, Lars wandered around the small forest. Again a spirit seemed to watch over him. Though he saw birds in the trees and foxes scamper away, he never met any wolves or bears. It was quiet and would almost have been a cosy trip, but the darkened sky was a like a single tonne weight on his shoulders.

Deep, deep into the forest he wandered till he came to a slant. At the bottom he saw an unmistakable human, but small like a pony and with blue skin. Its body was wrapped in leather like the Skaal but the clothes were much more crudely stitched together and never covering the whole body. In its left hand, the creature held a large piece of sharpened steel and in the other a pouch.

“Found you,” Lars muttered and walked down towards the creature. His feet crunching in the snow warned it however. The creature held up the pouch, seemingly doing nothing at first, so Lars continued down the hill when he fell head first into the snow. Looking behind him to see what had tripped him was a root. Shaped like a hoof.

A whole tree rose out of the ground, but shaped like a beautiful mare. Its boughs were like a thick, leafless mane and its roots its hoofs, the front legs studded with spikes like an oversized mole’s. Where its contours were soft and round its skin was bark filled with lichen and its face nothing more than a carving, mimicking a normal pony’s countenance. The little blue creature laughed sinisterly while rattling the pouch.

“You think this is funny? Try this on for size.” His sword slipped into the head of the living tree. It pulled back with another low-pitched screech. It fell to the ground like the wooden doll it was supposed to be. Dead. Lifeless. Thinking it safe, Lars got up again but felt a breath of wind behind him. The living tree was surrounded by a gust of leaves and petals and got up once more. “Oh you’ve got to be kidding.”

As if matters couldn’t be worse, a whole circle of the trees rose from the hilly ground to surround him. Quickly hacking down one only left him open for another one to swipe at him with its rough hooves. Not even the electrical sparks from his sword was of much use. He only had his own skills and the sturdiness of his suit. For the first time in a long time, his thoughts turned to the last sword he had owned and how in his current situation he missed it.

“I will not be defeated by a pair of oversized shrubs,” he called out and jumped over the circle. There was no winning if was surrounded. Even with all of his enemies in front of him it would be tough, but Lars did not know the meaning of defeat. He called forth all he had learnt about sword fighting and all of his military training. The sword hacked away in a frenzy and the trees just got right up again. He cut down the first tree again and then a third time until it was finally unmoving. “Huh?”

Realising that three was the magic number filled him with some hope. The prospect of fighting the remaining four thrice did take off some of the splendour. Their front legs were nasty and spiky and almost penetrated his suit. It was his face that worried him more. Though not a vain man, no one would like to have their face slashed up. Lars swung his sword and the long nails flew off one. The sword continued into its face. It screeched but the petal wind took its body in its embrace.

He exploited that time, the split second instant where it didn’t kick or scream or slash, to turn his back on it and kill off another while enduring attacks from the rest. Another one became unmoving, then another one and another one until they were all kindle at his feet. The little blue man growled at him and shook the crude piece of metal, shaped vaguely like a sword, in its hand. It would have been a dagger to a normal man, but it was a broadsword, a claymore or even a sabre to the little guy.

Lars hurried down the hill where the thing awaited him. It didn’t try to run away despite being having only the shank and the pouch, and despite Lars being so much taller. It was an ornery fellow with a ragged face screwed up in mischievous malice. Its stubby hands slashed out at him as fast as it could but Lars managed to step out of the way. Its armour proved ineffectual against a life-size sword. With its short reach, Lars could simply stab the hideous little thing from afar and watch it curse him in its own, foul language as life left it.

“I’ll be taking this,” he said as he stooped to pick up the pouch. Apart from its diminutive size and blue skin, the creature was oddly human to look at. How the creature had come to be and why would be another question that would nag him for long nights to come.

On his way back, Lars opened the pouch and found a single seed inside. He remembered the instruction given to him by the stone. Before reaching the Tree Stone completely Lars found a fitting place to plant the seed, in the middle of a small circle of stones. A warm glow, pulsating, emitted from the seed. As if happy to be back in the ground. “The Gift of Trees is restored. Once again, the trees and plants will bloom and grow, and provide nourishment and shade.”

He didn’t even want to bother with the voice anymore and quickly fished out the map from inside his suit somewhere. “That makes four, only two more to go,” he mumbled and set out once more. “The Skaal better appreciate what I’m doing for them here.”

The Sun beat down relentlessly. There was no wind to cool him. As he reached a lake, he sat down by its bank under a tree and enjoyed a lunch he had brought with him wrapped in a small blanket. There was something freeing about being out in the open. He could hunt for meat all he liked for one. Of course, he could only get himself to eat those things which didn’t talk back at him. Which precluded cows and sheep, but strangely not pigs. Again he became lost in his thoughts until he had finished his meal when he set off again.

A stream followed him for most of the trip and eventually ended out in a large lake. Creatures rested on flakes of ice, beasts like the Swimmer though smaller and coloured more like his own world’s walruses. They barked at him but with his distance, none of them bothered him just as he didn’t bother any of them.

The Beast Stone towered out of the landscape. Skaal village had emerged in the horizon as a small dot. He was not far from completing his task. Just this Stone and one more. He breathed deeply and put his hand to the surface. Soon he would be done running all over the wasteland.

“Travel south. Find the Good Beast and ease his suffering,” the voice boomed in his mind. The shortness of the message left him wanting more but nothing else came.

Cries of battle carried through the dunes of snow and the frosty hills. It was the screeches from the manling he had met earlier, though it sounded like there was an excited group of them. He ran as fast as he could back towards it. A bear roared up. The screeches became mirthful little laughs. The cold crept inside his suit and chilled him to the bone.

Standing on a hill he saw them. Some had swords like the last manling, others rode large boars while shooting arrows. In their midst was a large bear with fur like finest snow. It swiped at the beastly little people with its claws but the manlings stayed just out of reach, taunting it and leering at it as they slashed and shot it.

“The Good Beast, I presume.”

Lars ran down the hill screaming like a maniac. The manlings looked up from their bullying. Several of them cursed in their throaty language and some even pointed with weapons. The arrows pelted down on him from the two archers. Not only were they bad aims, the primitive missiles were no more than a short rap on his suit. They halted their barrage so the three swordsmen could go to work. They were so small and fragile that he had only to strike them sideways to send them flying. The Good Beast, no longer bothered, fell to the ground with a single arrow protruding from its back. He knew he had to end this quickly.

The mounted archers resumed their shooting while the swordsmen got up again. He only had to worry about his face so that’s where he kept the sword. One manling tried to stop him but was promptly run through. The last two latched on to a shoulder each, wishing him a thousand illnesses. The archers were still shooting so he turned his side on him. One arrow to the back of the head was enough to get one of the little critters off him. The last one held on while hacking away at his purple suit. His skin underneath would soon become a darker shade but the fabric held. He grabbed the manling by its neck and threw it to the ground before plunging his sword into it.

The last two, the archers, circled him on their mounts while firing their arrows. They kept a wide enough birth so it was impossible to reach and they kept adjusting the distance to ensure he wouldn’t. He spun around and aimed the sword at the manling. A bolt of sparks shot from the tip. The manling screeched and toppled from the boar. The wild animal grunted as it fled. The last manling was thinking about retreating but hesitated for one moment too long. The sword ran through its chest. It too fell to the ground and its boar ran away as well.

Lars went up to the bear. It was looking back at him with its kind eyes. A slight whimper escaped it. “I’ll be with you… just hold on a minute. I’m not as young as I used to be.” He wiped his brow before wrapping both hands around the shaft. With one mighty yank the arrow came free. The bear yelped but hardly any blood came from the wound. The arrow had fortunately not penetrated deep. The bear took a moment to lick Lars’ face.

“All right, that’s enough,” he laughed and tried to push its face away from his. “Please, this is not how bears are supposed to act. Though I guess you’re no ordinary bear, huh?”

The Good Beast grunted and began shuffling forwards. It took them a while to get back to the stone as slow as the bear was. The sky had coalesced into a permanent grey/black mass, angrily writhing and twisting. Freeing the sun had only released its warmth. Its enlightening rays remained locked away. The Good Beast simply sat down next to the stone and bared its jaws in a wide yawn. “You have returned the Gift of the Beasts,” the voice called out. “Once again, the good beasts will help the Skaal when they are hungry, clothe them when they are cold, and protect them in times of need.”

Lars waited till the echoes from the All-Maker had died down inside his head before taking out his map. One last task; one last ritual to complete before finishing his pilgrimage. The thought warmed him inside. Though it could as well have been the burning sun on his brow. It glimmered faintly through the layers of dark clouds, like the light at the end of a tunnel. He travelled further up the river at a much quicker pace without the lumbering bear.

The river came down the distant mountains and forked off. One branch travelled down to the lake he had just visited, the other swung past the colony and ultimately carved through Equestria. The Wind Stone was located on the western shore of the western branching river. The large pillar rose majestically into the air with swirls etched into it. Lars touched the sign and immediately felt a gentle breeze coming from the stone. It glowed and with it came the voice in his ears. “Travel south and east of the lake of ice,” the voice said to him. “Find the Greedy Man and release the Wind from its captivity.”

He stared at the stone for a few moments longer. Was it really the All-Maker speaking to him? The voice was familiar, as if speaking beyond the mists of memories. Was he being deceived or was he merely deceiving himself? The last task would soon prove that. Down the river he walked, back towards the large lake he had seen earlier, and climbed over a ridge.

Against the naked rock leant a square house made from thick sheets of stone heaped on top of each other. A few steps led up to the round door that pushed inwards like all the rest he had encountered. He steeled himself for the labyrinth that awaited inside, but instead he found only a small room. A large pillar took up most of the space. He stepped down to the ground floor. As his eyes got used to the semidarkness, shapes began to form. Then came the howls.

A single draug skulked towards him. It was not alone. A wolf stalked around the undead man, but there was very little flesh to be found on its exposed bones. It was not alive either. Even without eyes it could still find him. Maybe because its nose was still largely intact. The strange mixture of completely bared bones and fleshy parts gave it an appearance that made the hairs on Lars’ arm stand on end. His sword sparked to life. The bone wolf sprang into action. The sword flashed through the air and sank into the exposed skull. The draug came closer as well. Lars tried to wrest the sword free, but it was stuck in the wolf. Its bones were hard like crystal. The sword groaned and creaked as he finally pulled it out.

The draug was no longer alone. Several more of its kin, with their skin hanging on their bones, shuffled towards him. Grinning, with eyes flashing like red orbs. His sword flickered erratically. He dared not voice his dismay, but he knew. The sword would not last much longer if he continued to bang it against what was effectively stone. Yet what choice did he have? He was pushed back up the stairs and frantically hacked left right. Bone wolves snapped at his arms. The draugr swung their bony fists at him.

Another bone wolf fell to the ground, and then another, making room for three draugr to get at him. His sword nearly decapitated one, broke a second one’s legs and finally got stuck in the third’s ribcage. He lost count of the glowing eyes and snarls that still came at him. Then it finally happened. The sword gave out. He could not free it from the draug and then lost his grip on the hilt. The undead fell away into unseen sea of hands that grabbed at him and teeth wanting to sink into him.

He pushed against the door but found it locked. He was trapped, with no weapon to defend himself, and several more enemies vying for his life. His feet clinked against something. It was hard as stone. He stooped to pick it up as another wolf sprang at him. There was no time to think. He grabbed the something and bashed the wolf over the head. Its skull splintered. He pressed forward down the platform again, swinging the unknown implement left and right. The draugr fell before him more easily than he could have imagined. Their bones pulverised before his new weapon. Only when he was done, his enemies motionless before him, did he realised what he held in his hands. It was the leg of a draug. He panted and sweated as he threw it away in disgust.

Past the small room was another chamber. The bodies of dead ponies were preserved in the same ice as he had encountered before. The level of their preservation was beyond compare. Not a single flaw or blemish could be spotted on them anywhere. Only those who had died in combat sported any wounds. They could have died hundreds of years ago, it would be impossible to determine at a glance. He only paused to admire them for a moment. Again he was struck with wonder and made a mental note to enquire about it. His goal lay at the end, up against one of the ice caskets.

He took the rather innocuous, even shabby-looking, bag of a course material into his hands and pulled the drawstring. Immediately his face was assaulted by a strong wind. He staggered and lost the bag from his hands. It fell to the ground where it slid across the floor of its volition, like a firework rocket aimed vertically. He had not even gotten his bearings back when the voice came to him.

“Well done, my friend. Thanks to you, the ultimate banishment of King Sombra has drawn a little closer. His curse on the land has now been lifted.” The room exploded with light. For the second time in mere moments, Lars was pushed back by some otherworldly force and again he clutched his face as he staggered back.

It was the same voice that had spoken to him before, the voice of the All-Maker. But the dread familiarity that had previously haunted him came washing over him. He did not need to open his eyes to see who was speaking. “Butterscotch…” he mumbled and unsteadily walked towards the voice. “What the Hell are you doing here?”

The chuckle that followed was mirthful and yet deprived of any worldly reason. “Disguising a voice is a simple enough task. Now, making you forget it is just another way of entertaining myself!” Lars pried his lids open and saw the encapsulated pony float towards him. The bubble still contained him. “It was quite entertaining to watch you flounder all around the wasteland like this.”

Lars spat on the floor and rubbed the last spots out of his eyes. “You would use these ponies’ superstition just to entertain yourself and waste my time?” he replied angrily.

Butterscotch shook his head and floated around the room. The bubble was squeezed tightly around him. It was a wonder he hadn’t been squashed completely yet. “I have a certain interest in seeing King Sombra tripped up. For this reason I would employ you, the Skaal and even the fort if necessary.” His eyes turned as his neck was too confined to move. “Do not mistake me. Your actions today and yesterday have not been in vain. You have weakened King Sombra but his spirit is still nursing its wounds somewhere. There is no time to slack off.”

The light from the bubble cast off against the ice coffins and sparkled brightly. Strange shapes danced on all the surfaces and across Lars’ face. He held up a hand to shield his already sore eyes. “What is your connection with the Skaal? I know you made the draugr but how deep is your hoof in the things that are happening?”

Butterscotch chuckled, a scoffing sort of laughter. “I have no obligation to indulge you, my friend. Perhaps when you have been a good little human and performed some more tasks I will. Until then, you could always ask the Skaal. I am sure they would be happy to tell you their legends. Did you even think to ask?”

Lars swiped the air with his hand in angered dismissal. “I was going to once this was over. You don’t tell me what to do.”

But Butterscotch was already fading away. With him he took the light and darkness reclaimed the small chamber. Lars muttered several curses under his breath. Once again he had been led around by the nose. Butterscotch always had a way to get people to do his bidding without them realising.

He returned to the land outside. It was changed as if with a stroke of magic. No longer did dark clouds claim the sky. The Sun was up there and smiling down at him. A brisk wind blew and together the two forces fought. The end result was a bearable cold that felt fresh against his face and warm against his skin.

Even the Skaal in the village had come out. Foals played warriors in the street and ran around his legs as if he was a dangerous beast. Only their mothers coming out in a timely fashion allowed him to carry on. On any other day he might even have indulged them. But he was weary and sore and above all in a foul mood. He ripped open the door to the shaman’s hut.

The shaman sat by the fire, warming himself with hooves outstretched. Curiously, he looked up. “Outlander, you have succeeded in your task. The heavy blanket of evil has been lifted and power again surges up in the Skaal. Why do you look so broody?” he asked as Lars found a seat on the bench opposite him.

“For two days I roamed this frozen wasteland in search of your pillars and activating them. I’ve been beaten, bitten and drenched. On top of that my sword broke and… and who is this All-Maker?”

“Why, the All-Maker is the creator of all you can see. The sun, the wind, the land… once all his attributes are in balance no harm can come to the Skaal.”

“Hm. Let me ask you something else then.” Lars put the map and the book down next to him, staring fixed at the shaman. “Have you ever heard of a pony called Swirl the Smart? Squirrelly fellow with silver hair.”

Korst did not reply immediately, instead gazing into the blazing flames. At length he replied, but only hesitantly so. “You speak of the prophet who came to us a thousand years ago when our need was greatest,” he replied, carefully selecting his words as if afraid to insult someone present in the room.

Lars couldn’t help but laugh, expressing all of his pent up frustrations at once with cleansing mirth. “The prophet?” he asked with a sneer. “What did that guy ever do to deserve such reverence?”

But Korst could not see the fun in that. He looked up grimly with shadows running down his weather-beaten face. “When the blizzard first came here the Skaal was nothing but a fractured group of survivors, desperately fighting to survive.” The fire crackled ever so slightly as he took a deep breath. “Our ancestors came from a great civilisation far east of here. Away from it we could not feel its magic and either adapted to this wasteland or froze to death.”

“I mean no offence, but Swirl the Smart is no prophet. He is a trickster only looking out for himself. Whatever you gained from his wiles would merely be side effects. Do you know what he was even doing here?”

The old shaman flushed with colour. Had Lars not completed the pilgrimage, Korst would undoubtedly have thrown him out. Instead he controlled himself to reply. “You speak of the prophet as if you have experience, but that is already a millennium ago. His deeds are legends among our people. How dare you besmirch his name so?”

“I can only imagine how he must have played you,” Lars said with a shake of his head. “I shall not mention him again if you would only tell me some of those legends.”

Korst rose from his seat and wandered into the dark corners of his hut. It sounded to Lars like a lid was opened. “The tales of our prophet are many and richly detailed. It would take longer time than I can spare you to tell it all. It is my hope, however, that by revealing just a little of it all I can make you see his greatness.”

Nothing could possibly cast a manipulative, degenerated trickster in any good light was the first thought that came to Lars’ mind. “I’ll be looking forward to hear it,” he said instead with a hint of sarcasm. That however either went unnoticed or was promptly ignored.

For a few long moments, however, Korst remained absolutely silent with only the crackling of the fire to entertain Lars. The human almost thought about going into the darkness and see what the shaman was up to, but he had barely left the seat before the Korst returned. And not empty-hoofed either. “What do you make of this?” he mumbled and spat out a large mace down into Lars’ waiting lap. Even with his suit on he could feel the cold emanating from it and jolted up. It fell to the floor with a heavy ringing.

“It’s cold. It’s really, really cold. What is that thing made of?”

“Stahlrim. Magic ice. Our prophet taught us how to manipulate it, among other things. He came out of the blizzards and gathered us so we could pool our resources and make a society. And then he disappeared just as quickly again without asking for anything in return. That is the kind of pony Swirl the Smart was.”

“Did he really not ask for anything at all?” Lars held up the mace before him. A beautiful piece of craftsmanship. A chill mist lingered about it. It was short, obviously designed for and by a pony, but it was unbelievably heavy and took both his arms to hold up. The head was small and smooth but with several spikes added to it. “He might not have asked for anything material, but the pony I know is bound to have asked for your help.”

“Well. Yes, he did, but it would only be fair,” Korst admitted begrudgingly and sat down again. “Where your folk have made your mine is where he settled down a thousand years ago. He asked us not to interfere, but as legends go, we insisted on helping him. Not the other way around.”

Lars laid the mace away. Hoarfrost had gathered on his legs where the weapon had been. He brushed it away in an attempt to regain some heat. “Can you tell me what work he put you to?” he asked, his questions more filled with inquisitiveness that spiteful superiority. “I’d imagine it wasn’t picking berries.”

“No, the legends do not speak of berry picking. The legends do not speak much of the work at all. We dug into the ground and helped him settle there. Swirl the Smart often met up with us, however, and made sure our society was running smoothly. He vanished again shortly after he was satisfied we could get by on our own.”

Lars couldn’t help but shake his head again. So Swirl the Smart, master manipulator, had really had a hideout there? His interest in the mine only grew. What could the so-called prophet of the Skaal be hiding in the soil? “I don’t know why he came here, but I intend to find out.” Lars got up and made his way towards the entrance. “Do not believe your legends about him, though. He only helped you to help himself.”

“You are still a stranger to us, so we do not ask you to understand our customs. However, you did complete the pilgrimage, an admirable feat for which you shall be rewarded. It pains me to give it to an outlander, especially one as obstinate as you, but tradition dictates that the mace is yours.”

“What? But I can barely touch that thing without getting frostbite. How will I even lug it around with me?”

For the first time, Korst seemed pleased and picked up the mace by a leather thong tied around the handle. “As long as you are connected with the leather, the cold will not get to you. Tie the strap around your waist and you will be spared its magic.”

Lars gently took the mace from Korst and nearly fell over from the weight. As soon as it was attached around his waist, however, the weight melted away. “That’s amazing. Is there any chance this weapon will talk to me, though?”

Korst looked at Lars confused and slowly shook his head. “No, it’s just a mace, you know. But you can always talk back if the night gets lonely.” His chuckle made Lars’ face red right up to his ears. “Come back tomorrow, outlander, and I am sure our chieftain will have reached a decision about you. I’ll be sure to mention what you did today.”

CHAPTER 3 PART 3: POSTSCRIPT

Lars made his weary way back to the fort but his path had been lightened with the removal of the heavy clouds. Most animals were behaving normally as well and stayed away from him. His newfound weapon proved scarily effective in dealing with the occasional diseased wolf or bear. One swing was usually enough to crush their skulls.

Before returning to the fort, however, Lars had to make one crucial swing around the mine. Not because of any of the information he had prodded from the shaman. He already knew the underground hid something important… and potentially dangerous. Now he was just certain. What he really needed to do was inform Melon of his choice of sides. The long walks had been good for thinking, and Lars had finally reached a decision.

When he came to the colony, it seemed to have grown again. A bustle of ponies milled around and not just workers. Some that could not be anything but tourists were there as well. Probably to witness a small town in the making through their camera lenses. “It wasn’t easy to make my decision but I also had to admit my attachment to Raven Rock. I can’t rightfully put it in the hooves of Trusty Gunner. I’m sticking with you all the way,” Lars said as he located Melon by a water tower by the city edge. Melon tried to be jubilant, but seemed above all stressed out.

“I am pleased to hear that, Lars. Your corporation will make it much easier to run this mine. Oh, but I tell you, there have been so many newcomers I can barely keep track of them all. But we don’t have enough space for everything. I need to build either a trader’s post or a smithy but I can’t have them both. I need you to tell me what to do.”

Like an excited dog, Melon lifted up his hooves to Lars’ chest and looked at him with worried eyes. “Well I don’t know, what do you need most? And what is the consensus around the mine?” he asked in hopes of deflecting the question.

Melon fell down again and sighed. “That’s the problem. We could use both facilities which is why I’m in a pickle. As for the consensus, I think the ponies are more hoping for a trader’s post but what if we would really need a smithy? For tools maybe?”

Lars couldn’t help but smile. It was nice with much simpler problems to attend to. “Then just use the armoury at the fort. You have a boat now and it’s only Trusty Gunner you have to worry about. It’s not like that guy runs Fort Frostmoth.”

Melon lit up and laughed deeply, before embracing Lars’ legs. “What would I do without you? I feel all ashamed at having gone to you for such a small problem. Hmm… I know this wasn’t an official job or anything but I think I could still…” Mostly mumbling to himself, Melon reached into his fine doublet and took a notepad where he scrawled a few signs. The writing had the faint appearance of Latin letters but was mostly just a jumbled mess. Lars had never put himself into the written language of ponies as he could find no consistency to their texts. “There. It’s not much but should help you with any expenses you might encounter over the next few days.”

With the note in his pocket, Lars returned to the fort. Trusty Gunner was not happy to hear about the decision and begrudgingly rewarded Lars with three hundred gold pieces for the service. Not even the mention of a new trader’s post cheered him up any. Satisfied and tired, Lars retired to his bunk bed for the night. Tomorrow he would find the Skaal Village and talk with their leader again, whether Tharsten wanted to or not.