Ballad of The Bear: Chapter 1

The Cartographer walked through the biting winds of northern Friggorian, the chill nearly splitting his bones with every breeze. In every direction he looked, there was the white expanse of the uncharted north, broken only by the specter of decimated buildings and creatures camouflaged in the night. He trudged through the snow, feeling the pull of exhaustion beginning to creep. His ice-etched vision began to blur, and he knew that unless he acted quickly, hypothermia would overcome him before he reached safety.

As ice sheets began to freeze his body in place, he made out what looked to be a cave in these forsaken lands. He smiled, the Dead Gods must have heard his prayers. The Cartographer loosened the knot keeping his hood tightly fastened and pulled down the snow-coated mask that covered his face. The wind bit at his exposed face, burning like coals on flesh, as he used his mouth to remove his gloves from his shaking hands. He took in a deep breath, which prickled his lungs as they filled with air. The Cartographer squeezed his palms together before spreading them out in front of him and began a soft chant, moving his mouth just enough for the metallic sounds to emanate from his nearly frost-bitten lips. In front of his hands, a blazing ring of fire pierced through the all-encompassing white of the storm. The ring split into two halves, the upper half coiled itself around his upper body and the second ring enveloped his lower half in the same way.  Nearly instantly, the Cartographer was wrapped in a helix of brilliant flames. The first helix had an almost white light and acted as an insulating layer against the brilliant red flames of the second. He stared in the direction of the dot in the distance and raced for the cave. The ice melted from his body, leaving pools of melted snow in his wake as his body temperature stabilized against the comforting flames.

The cave beckoned from a distance, its entrance a tantalizing mile away, but then a deep rumble echoed through the air—a warning, perhaps, of an impending avalanche.

 He focused and whispered a metallic clang, a moment later, his hearing seemed to reach as far as the wind could blow. Taking in sounds from miles away, a thick, almost leathery flap whispered into the reaches of his ear. It was far away, but not for long.

The Cartographer estimated that the source was thirty, maybe forty seconds away. Running was already pushing his lungs to their capacity, but he quickly muttered, and a strange metallic syllable cut through his body, strengthening each muscle far beyond what nature intended. He could feel a searing pain ignite in his chest as he pushed his body and magic to the edge,  forcing as much speed from his body as it could muster. Ten seconds remained until the heavy wings were directly above him. The running man clasped his hands together, and the flaming rings around his body aligned to form one, searing the top layer of his winter gear off his body, leaving it burning behind him as he was fully engulfed in flames.

The flapping sounded deceptively distant. The man strained to listen; he could hear the air being slammed out of the way by massive wings as snow in every direction began to be pulled into a vortex. The man dove into the snow headfirst as his burning gear fell to the ground, was tossed around, and buffeted by the sudden change in snowfall. 

The snow beneath him was light enough for his flaming body to burrow through, increasing the distance from his discarded gear and leaving its scent behind as a distraction. He moved as quickly as he could, putting ten feet of snow between himself and his gear in the blink of an eye. A moment later his spine feigned a spasm as the beast bellowed above. The Cartographer used his magical strength to burrow harder, fearing that he would die of exhaustion before completing his concealment.

The snow all around him shook as a concentrated force slammed into the ground, not even three feet to his left. Where once there was the uniform darkness of packed snow, there was now a single column of sparkling ice, right around where the man thought the force hit the ground. The Cartographer, exhausted, breathed as slowly as he could and wove his hands into strange shapes to conjure a stasis charm. His body turned stiff, conserving energy and heat, shutting down every sensation except for those that he singled out; sound, touch, and smell. To an onlooker, he was already a frozen corpse.

The man heard the massive thump of a multi-ton beast landing on the snow. Beyond what the man could experience, a massive lizard descended from the sky. Scaled wings pushed air and snow in equal measure as it touched down on the wintry surface. The massive dragon, covered in thick, shiny, cobalt blue scales inhaled deeply, pulling in all scents of the area. It crawled prudently over to the burning mound of fabric left by the man and sniffed more closely. The winged behemoth stood over the fabric and stared at the snow, its large dark eyes seemingly trying to look beneath the surface. It raised its tail and swung it through the snow, carving a shallow chasm into the white terrain. The dragon saw nothing. No blood, no disturbed snow from fearful prey, and no sign of a viable target. The ground shook as the beast raised itself into the sky. Even after the ground settled from the dragon's ascent, the wings could be heard flapping overhead for so long that the man feared it was waiting him out. The man remained in his stasis until he could no longer endure the subtle pain of his body breaking under a magical strain.

“Release.” 

The man thought in a foreign language and his buried body inched back to life. He was exhausted and past his limits. The stasis spell maintained his body temperature, but once it fully wore off, he would have to face the endlessly patient and tyrannically cold wilds, exposed. He turned his head around his burrowed space slowly, hoping to find a region where the snow was more shallow. He knew that he felt the beast strike the ground. And there it was, through all of the darkness, there was a small sliver of light not too far away. The chasm carved by the tail of the beast.

The man crawled out of the snow, poking his head out to survey the surroundings. No dragon was in sight. Staggering to his feet, he immediately felt the chill. The cave was no more than 100 feet away. He thought that ice was forming over his skin as the soft snow gave way to the rocky cave floor, he sighed as he entered his new shelter. His eyes were heavy, his thoughts dissipated before he could grasp them, and his organs burned as he collapsed onto the rocky surface, all while he battled the ever-growing urge to sleep— attempting to not succumb prey to nature.

The new terrain beneath him felt warm. He took a deep breath to confirm he wasn't dreaming. He sniffed the air and found the faint scent of wood burning as he crawled deeper into the cave.

Entirely spent, he knew that he may not have avoided death. This could be the lair of a bandit, happy to rob another foolish adventurer in The Wilds. Nonetheless, he needed help.

“Pl…pl…ea…se! H…h..h..elp me!” The man called into the cave. His voice barely above a whimper, no matter how much he pushed to be louder. There was nothing. The man let out a sigh and closed his eyes. I escaped the Dragon. The cold and exhaustion got me, not the beast. I got away. I’m still going to die, but not because of a dragon. The man smiled to himself and deeply exhaled. The pitter-patter of footsteps began approaching. His various enchantments were wearing off as his energy waned, but they hadn't vanished completely yet.

“Hello?” A quiet voice questioned, slightly louder than a whisper. 

“H..elp.” The Cartographer replied. His sight was fading, but approaching him was a tall figure, dark and approaching him slowly. The Cartographer tried to reach out a hand, but the figure disappeared. The cave disappeared, the world disappeared, and then the Cartographer disappeared.

The Cartographer’s vision returned to him to find a modest fire burning in front of him. He was wrapped in a heavy blanket and saw two short swords and a small sack next to him. The rocky ground had faint blotches that looked to be dried blood. The figure that had rescued him had a more defined face now. He looked to have very recently achieved adulthood and had dark skin with boyish features. He sat with his legs crossed and a wooden bowl resting between them.

“I’m happy to see you're awake; it's nice to meet you! Please, help yourself to some bear stew. There's plenty to go around – eat as much as you'd like!" A sudden cough seized the boy, each hacking sound echoing through the small, dimly lit cave. His frail frame convulsed, eyes widening in search of air. The fit subsided, concluding with a burst of scarlet blood that splattered onto the ground beneath him.

“Apologies for that,” he said, wiping the blood from the corners of his mouth. “I've been battling a relentless cough; the cold seems to have gotten a hold of me.” Rising from his seated position, he revealed a stature much larger than his earlier appearance suggested. He reached for a battered wooden bowl, dipping it into a chipped metal pot.

“I don’t have many utensils, but I hope this stew brings you comfort. Don't worry, I made sure not to cough in it.” The boy offered a reassuring smile.

Thank you," the Cartographer said, wriggling out from under the bear fur blanket. He accepted the bowl from the boy, a wave of warmth soothing his chest despite the persistent burn. Assessing the young man's stature, he confirmed the imagined tall, athletic figure but couldn't ignore the toll the cough had exacted, as if his body was consuming itself. As he lowered himself to sit, the Cartographer observed the struggle in the young man's attempt to straighten his spine.

"You've saved my life, and words fall short to express my gratitude. Thank you sincerely." The Cartographer's gaze softened, "However, I can't help but worry about you. Are you alright? You saved me, but I can see it's not without cost to you."

“I’m fine, the cough is new. When this storm finishes, I’ll go find some ingredients and see if I can make a medicine. The plants here are hearty, the hardest part will be finding them in the snow.

The man nodded as he took a sip of stew from his bowl. As the Cartographer lowered the bowl from his face, something caught his eye. Something glimmered in the corner, its surface dancing against the gentle flames. It was an arrowhead, as black as the Pit of the Gods was deep. The tip of the arrow was less brilliant, it was blunted and its brilliantly black surface was stained with what looked to be rust. The Cartographer stared at the arrow for a moment, then glanced at the young man, barely able to sit up straight.

Two more days crept past, each accompanied by a waning storm and an increasing onslaught of Adam's relentless coughs. The Cartographer, swathed in a blanket draped like a makeshift cloak, made his way to the cave's mouth. The snow beneath his feet glistened as sunlight filtered through the dispersing clouds.

“Adam, whenever you're ready, I suggest we leave. The weather is clear and we’re a long way from Caelin.” A brief silence ensued before the Cartographer discerned the clinking of pots and the orderly sounds of packing. Soon after, Adam emerged, a sizable sack on his back, short swords flanking his hips, and a Wolf fur coat shielding him. He stood slightly taller than the Cartographer, but his attempts to stand straight were stifled by a cough, muffled by his covered hand.

“Alright, I've packed up everything. Let's make our way to Caelin. I can't recall ever being in a place larger than a camp or a fort."

As the two ventured into the sunny, snow-covered expanse, the cartographer took the lead. “Caelin's larger than that, but if you think it's big when you get there, Fari would astonish you.”

“What's Fari?” Adam asked between coughs.

Quickening his pace, the Cartographer spoke, “This will be tough, but we need to move as fast as possible. Your cough is worsening, and someone has to check that out.” Adam nodded.

“To answer your question, Fari is the capital of Friggorian, right in the heart of the kingdom. Three days from Caelin by horse, and if you catch a glimpse of the Citadel at Fari, it towers over the sky. I'm eager to return after an errand in Caelin. I'll get you to a doctor before that.”

“Thanks for your help, Castor. I don’t think a doctor is needed, though. I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

“That might be true, but I've never seen anyone cough up blood when they’re fine. Worst case scenario, it’s a cold, and they can give you an elixir to heal quickly.”

“While we’re on our way, tell me more about Fari and the Citadel,” Adam said, nodding in agreement.

As they walked for another day, Castor sensed the city approaching soon. The sun greeted them for the second day, and as he finished packing up camp, he silently thanked the Dead Gods for their fortune on the return trip. Searching his mind for a fitting prayer, he heard Adam's familiar cough and turned to him.

Adam doubled over, consumed by an intense coughing fit. With each cough, his body shook violently. Blood sprayed onto the snow every few seconds, staining the ground beneath his feet red.

“Adam!” Castor ripped the bag from his back and dropped it in the snow, frantically searching for water. The steel container housing the water scraped his fingers, and he yanked at it, pulling it from the bag with such force that, for a moment, it flew from his hand. Snatching it from the air, he ran over to Adam as he struggled to stay on his feet.

The coughing morphed into vomiting, and Adam dropped to his knees as blood-laced bile forcefully expelled from his body. He began to hyperventilate as tears streamed down his eyes. Castor crouched next to him, attempting to steady his convulsing body.

“Breathe, it’ll be ok. We’re not far now. Only a few more miles.” Under his hand, Castor felt Adam shudder, then he sensed Adam jerk. The boy collapsed onto his side, convulsing as blood and saliva dribbled out of his open mouth.

“Fuck! Fuck! Come on! We’re almost there! Adam! ADAM!” Castor's voice echoed as Adam's body went limp in his arms.