The Crystal Rose: Chapter 3
Vim crouched down on the ice, looking over the scene of the crime. The tracks were almost human-like in their shape with four fingers and one thumb, though slightly lopsided at one end. Of course, the only problem with that was that the tracks were on the ground, and doing a handstand in this weather was asking for frostbite.
“Tell me, what did the thing look like again?” Vim said to the short one-eared man standing next to him. He recalled his name as Norlen.
“According to what the men have been saying, it's a fifteen feet giant with curling horns that can spew fire. Or ice. Or both.” Norlen shrugged. “The name yeti's been thrown around here and there.”
“What do you think?”
“Probably a gorilla type thing. No more than a head or so taller than us. Yeti's a valid name still, I guess.” The man rubbed his cheek.
Vim looked out over the icy expanse. All there was in front of them was an endless sheet of snow, no rocks, boulders, or any other defining features. On one hand, it meant faster travel. On the other, it meant no shelter from the Glacierwind, if they got caught out in the open.
He turned back to the man. “Did no one see the thing?”
“Oh no, we've got at least a dozen sightings over the last three days. Reports of footprints and missing things and stuff. Partially what slowed us down too.” Norlen shook his head. “Didn't take em seriously though. Guess we're paying for that now.”
The pile of broken crates lay fallen to the side, only splinters left of the supplies. A muffled yell could be heard from the back. Vim sighed, pointing back to the tent. “I'll...go have a chat with the captain.”
Norlen nodded. Vim waited for a moment before starting the hike to the tent. Facing an angry Sira Dalson was like facing angry bulls in an arena. Plural. He tried to mask the wince on his face as he pulled the flap open.
“Three crates of rations, four crates of other supplies, and an entire bag of explosive charges, all missing—“ The old woman slammed the paper list onto the table. “—And you're seriously telling me you want to keep going?”
“It can't be more than a days trip to the Gardens. One and a quarter at most.” Lannel faced the charge admirably, but it was clear he was losing ground.
“Oh, in ideal situations sure,” Sira said, pacing around the gray walls of the tent. “But these aren't ideal situations, are they? We have an entire tribe of cryptids at our heels, following us for gods know what reasons!”
“The sightings have never seen more than one at a time,” Lannel said, voice getting quieter and quieter. “It's entirely possible that it's just a single creature.”
Sira gave him a glare. It was no question what she thought of that. “All it takes is one attack, one badly-timed inconvenience, to leave us at mercy of the Glacierwind. Do you have any idea how many lives could be lost? Do you have any idea how our lives could be lost?”
A dark light passed over Lannel's eyes. “I do. Of course I do.” He curled up the paper into a ball. “But if we miss this chance now, we may never reach the Gardens for the rest of our lives. This is our only chance!”
“I know that just as well as you do, but—” Sira glanced at Vim, eyebrows going up, as if noticing him for the first time. “You're a rational man, Vim, tell him. Tell him how dangerous this is.”
If this was any old expedition—if he were here for any other reason—he would have. It was a huge gamble, and one not meant to be taken when lives were at stake. But this wasn't any old expedition, and he wasn't here for himself.
“We should push on.”
The old woman's eyes narrowed. “Excuse me?”
“Lannel's reasoning is sound.” Vim let out a sigh. “Elder Ruins aren't known for their tendency to stick in one place—or in any place at all. If we miss it now, we are giving up on what may be humanity's last chance to find out the secrets of the—“
“Don't give me that, boy.” Sira's gaze flickered with flames. “Those aren't any reasons the old Vim would've risked a life for, and I'm sure they aren't enough for the man standing in front of me as well. Tell me the real reason.”
Vim closed his eyes. The wind blew outside, howling and raging. “My daughter's sick, Sira. She's dying.”
Confusion passed over the aged woman's features for a split second. Then she saw the slip of paper in his pocket, the drawing of the Crystal Rose. Her eyes softened. “Oh Vim.”
“The doctors say nothing can be done. The Rose is my last hope and I don't know how long she's going to last.”
Sira nodded, glancing at Lannel, standing silent at the desk. “I apologize. I said too much.”
Lannel looked up. “Then—“
“However,” Sira continued. “I still cannot abide by this decision. No matter how valuable, how dear one life is, it cannot outweigh the forty-two lives on this expedition. Their lives are in our hands, and I don't intend to expose them to any unnecessary risks.” She looked down. “Even if it is for a child.”
He felt his fist tighten. Nothing for him would outweigh Ashe's life, but he couldn't expect others to make the sacrifice for him. Not willingly.
“I understand.” Vim pushed the flap open, freezing air pouring in.
“Where are you going?” Lannel asked.
“To convince.”
The ice stabbed at him like daggers through his five layers of clothing. He ignored it as he walked into the center of the tents and crates, earning more than a few stares with his bulk. It had been years since he had last made a speech. Vim wasn't even sure he could do it anymore.
“Everyone, I have an announcement to make,” he called out. It barely caught a few more wayward glances, only half-looking to see what the commotion was. Clearing his throat, he tried once more. “Everyone!”
Nothing. He bit his lip. The explorers were preoccupied with their own jobs, it was only natural that they wouldn't notice. Gears turning in his head, Vim tapped his fingers on a crate. The feel of rough planks under his glove was—
He paused. That was it. Tightening his grip, he held his hand high in the air and slammed it down onto the crate, a massive snap resounding throughout the tents and fires. The camp went silent as forty-two pairs of eyes fixed on him.
Crude, but effective. Vim drew in a breath. “I'm sure it's been a question on all of your minds why we haven't moved for half a day now. Why we're wasting time here, when the Glacierwind could hit any second.”
Several murmurs snaked through the crowd, a sea of brown forming as the adventurers, huddled in their thick, drab coats, gathered around the center. It was almost intimidating, in a way.
“Now, most of you have guessed, but our two leaders are at an impasse,” Vim said, trying his best to keep his voice steady. “One of them wants to turn back and wait out the storm, while the other wants to push on. It should be no surprise which is coming from who.”
A loud shuffling erupted out as feet stamped against feet, voices against voice. He could practically see the adventurers choosing their sides.
“We should keep going!” someone called out.
“No, turning back is the best option here,” another said.
“Turning back? Are you insane? After coming this far?”
Vim rapped his fist against the crates. The voices lowered only a slight fraction—a fraction enough. “Now, I know I may not be the most respected or well-known here, but to my eyes, there's only one choice;we have to push on.”
The crowd exploded.
“Who're you anyways? Did Madam Dalson approve of this?”
“What does Captain Lannel say?”
He hit his fist, louder this time, on the wood. The noise subsided in an anxious, tense sort of way, like a predator watching its prey. He had no doubt they would swallow him up the moment he said a wrong word.
“You're right, I'm just a washed up old man who's past his time, but that wasn't always the case.” Vim stood tall, puffing out his chest. “Once upon a time, I was just like you. The tombs of the Sand Kings? I pilfered them from tip to bottom. The Great Pyramid? Climbed to the top with a broken arm. Olsheim? Well...
Vim stood there, quiet for a moment, then swallowed. “I've been to Olsheim. That's all I can say.”
A cold wind blew through the valley, echoing off the mountains at their back. The name of the Elder Ruin carried weight even among those who studied them. Feeling some of his old strength seep into him, Vim stepped forward, facing the crowd.
“All of you, every single one of you, are brave. That goes without saying.” He met each person's eyes. “But you're also ambitious. Ambitious enough to breach this freezing wasteland. Ambitious enough to join a expedition led by a man thrice failed.
“Ambitious enough,” Vim said, “that you would risk your lives to see even a glimpse of the ruins.”
His voice rung through, uninterrupted. At the very least, he had their attention. Running his tongue over dry lips, he continued on.
“I can't predict the future, I can't even make an accurate guess. The Ice Gardens may still be there when the storms end, or they may not,” Vim said. “But what I do know, right here and right now, is that there is a chance here right before my eyes.”
Vim raised his fist. “Sure it'll be dangerous, with wild animals at all sides, sure it'll be risky, with winter at our heels, but did any of us come unprepared for the risks?”
“No!” the crowd yelled, voices condensing into one.
“Each of you may have your individual reasons, but they all boil down to one thing. You all want to see an Elder Ruin with your own eyes, to touch it with your own hands, to feel it with your own body,” he said, “and from what I can see that chance is here.”
“I'm not smart, and I'm not talented, but I am experienced, and experience has always told me one thing.” Vim raised his fist. “When you have a chance, you don't wait for it. You pounce!”
A roar shot through the crowd, cheers going through unanimously. Vim felt his heart pound against his chest. He did it. He didn't know how he did it, or where the words came from, but he did it. Taking one last look at the gathered people, Vim turned around and went back the way he came.
Sira stood next to the tent, graying hair flapping in the wind. She gave him a look somewhere between acknowledgment and respect before trudging off.
“Lannel.” Vim pushed the tent flap open. “How fast can we leave?”
Lannel looked at him for a moment, then turned back to the stack of yellowing papers on the desk. “Well, let's see here, if you want the maximum amount of time in the Gardens...” He shifted through them, making notes with his pen. “I can definitely move my plans up by several hours, maybe even half a day. We certainly have enough morale to do so.”
Vim cocked his head. “We'll have a week at minimum once we make it to the Ruins, won't we? There isn't any way to breach the Glacierwind.”
Lannel shook his head. “Don't count on it.”
“What are you—“ A yell from somewhere outside cut him off. Vim turned. “I'll go check it out.”
A group of men were gathered around in a circle. If he squinted, he could just make out the telltale form of Sira in the middle of them. Vim broke off in a run. Were they fighting? What did Sira do?
Once he got closer, however, he noticed the smaller third form, blue-gray fur lifting up and down in strained rhythm as it lay on the ground. It reminded him of one of those old monster films he used to watch. “Monkey-Man of the East,” only less cheap plastic.
“The little bugger has done enough, let's just kill it and be done with it,” one man said.
“What are you saying? This is a valuable research specimen, a living relic. We ought to be studying them!”
“Will you fools just look?” Sira pointed at the creature—the yeti's—shoulder. A band of leather was tied around it, ending at its waist in something resembling a skirt. All over the clothing were block-like runes. “Clothing and a writing system. We should be communicating, not discussing whether to kill or to study it.”
“It could've stolen them,” someone said from the ring.
“They're a perfect fit, and this is a child. How would they get leather if not for making it?” The old woman turned to Vim. “Help me carry him into the tent, would you? I'll need my tools to get to work on his wounds.”
Vim nodded. The men opened their mouths to protest. Sira shot them a glare, daring them to try and stop her.
They stepped back.