In the Service of the King (book 3 of Shadow for Hire)
Spoiler Warning for Wages of Death and Out of the Shadows
Part 1: A Christmas of Shadows
“What can I do for you, stranger?” the tavern’s owner asked as Leopold stepped through the door and approached the bar.
“A meal and some information if you have it.” Leopold swung his pack from his shoulders to drop at the foot of a battered bar stool. From the look of it, it had been in its fair share of fights.
“The meal I can promise you.” The tavern-keeper motioned to a young boy no more than seven or eight years old, sending the lad scurrying off in search of victuals.
“And the information?” Leopold asked.
“That largely depends on what you want to know.” The man came to lean on the bar across from him. “I’ve spent my whole life in this area and know a lot about it, so hopefully I can help you out. My name’s Bardon, by the way.”
Leopold introduced himself, shaking the barkeep’s proffered hand. “I need some information about a city which should be near here. How far is it to LaSoka Melar?”
“About twenty miles as the crow flies,” Bardon answered. “You looking to go there?”
“Twenty miles? If that’s the case, I’m almost there!”
Bardon held up a hand to stop Leopold’s excitement.
“Not so fast. Melar is only twenty miles from here, but those mountains stand right in the way.”
Leopold turned to look out the open door in the direction the bartender was pointing. The mountains were big but not the largest he had ever seen. They were not even tall enough to have snow caps on their peaks. It would be a trip, but one he could handle.
“Well, if they’re in the way, I’ll just have to go over them, won’t I?” Leopold turned back to the bar and accepted a plate of bread and cheese and a bowl of stew from Bardon’s son.
“Go over them, sir?” Bardon took a step back. “No one goes over them.”
“Then how do you get to LaSoka Melar?”
Bardon pulled a towel from his belt and began to wipe down the bar.
“About three days’ journey from here, a canyon cuts through the range. It’s another three days from there to Melar. There’s some unrest at the pass right now, different factions trying to take control. It happens from time to time. You’ll probably have to pay a toll or two for passage, but it’s a far cry better than heading over the mountains.”
“What’s so bad about ‘em?” Leopold asked, his mouth full as he looked over his shoulder at the range. “Surely a person could get a horse up those slopes much less walk up them.”
“Oh, certainly you can get a horse over them,” Bardon answered with a laugh. Clearly this young man simply did not know the area. “Many a person could have crossed them, we just don’t. Especially this time of year.”
“Why not?” Leopold turned back to Bardon. “They don’t look so bad.”
“It’s not what you see, it’s what you don’t see,” Bardon said emphatically. “You don’t see snow now, and you may not see it for weeks, but an unholy force covers the mountains. Winter storms can crop up from the other side of those peaks with no warning. Try to cross them now and you might make it to the other side with no trouble, but you might also end up lost in a snowstorm, freezing to death and unable to find your way back to civilization.”
A circlet of metal in Leopold’s pocket dug into his leg, so small it was barely perceptible and yet impossible to ignore.
“So, if I go over, I’ll either get to Melar ahead of schedule or I’ll freeze to death on the journey.” Leopold looked up at Bardon. “I don’t know about you, but it seems like a win-win situation to me.”
“Dying is a winning outcome for you, sir?” Bardon’s eyes betrayed something halfway between respect and fear. “I have to believe there’s something you have to live for.”
“I would never presume to tell you what you have to believe,” Leopold interrupted the barman. “You have an establishment, a family. You have something to live for. I wouldn’t expect you to make such a stupid gamble.”
“Stay in town for a few days,” Bardon offered. “Surely I can convince you not to throw your life away.”
“Are you planning to rob me tonight, or do you have a daughter you’re looking to marry off? Either way, it’s not a good gamble. I’m pretty much broke.”
Bardon ignored Leopold’s joke.
“You could stay for free.”
“I’ve never been a freeloader before, and I don’t intend to start now.”
“You could work for your lodging if that’s more palatable to your ethics,” Bardon suggested.
“That’s why I’m going to Melar. No offense, but this town doesn’t seem like it has an abundance of work for a drifter like me.”
“We could figure something out.”
“I don’t want to impose.”
“It’s no imposition.”
“I’m not staying!”
Bardon was silent at the outburst. Leopold went back to eating, giving the stew his full attention. After a few minutes, the barkeep spoke again.
“Do you need to resupply?” he asked cautiously.
“Yes.” Leopold still studied his bowl, now nearly empty.
“Then at least let my son take you around to the folks who will deal straight with you.”
“Fine,” Leopold agreed.
“And stay here the night, no charge,” Bardon said. “Consider it a gift.”
Leopold finally looked at the other man.
“If I do, will you drop this?”
“Yes.”
“Deal,” Leopold said.
“Good.”
Bardon motioned for his son who was hanging out in the doorway to the large dining area. As the boy approached, the man got down on a knee.
“Jenson, I need you to go get your brother.”
“Where is he?” the boy asked.
“Who knows where he gets off to.” There was a tinge of irritation in Bardon’s voice. “Find him and tell him I want to speak with him.”
Jenson scurried off, and Bardon turned to doing chores behind the bar. It was several minutes before an older boy, about Leopold’s age, appeared through a door leading to the backyard of the building. He carried a thin slab of wood in one hand.
“Did you need me, dad?” he asked.
“Leopold, this is my son, Caleb,” Bardon introduced. “Caleb, this is Leopold.”
“My friends call me Leo.” Leopold swallowed the lump suddenly in his throat. He didn’t have friends anymore.
“Once Leo is done with his meal, I want you to show him around town,” Bardon continued. “He needs to buy some things as well, so take him to the Wares, Smiths, and Stones. He’ll be staying with us tonight, so once he’s done, show him to the north room.”
“Yes sir,” Caleb said.
“I’ll still be a few minutes,” Leopold said. “I’ll let you know when I’m ready.”
His food was practically gone, but he wanted to see what Caleb would do. The boy sat two stools down from Leopold and placed his tablet on the bar. He produced a piece of charcoal and began to poke at the wood with it, drawing smudges and lines. Bardon left the room, but Leopold barely noticed.
“What are you doing?” he finally asked.
“What’s that?” Caleb looked up in surprise.
“What are you drawing?”
“Oh.” Caleb looked at his picture for a few moments before sliding it down the bar.
It was a good likeness. The face of a girl stood out in black lines against the wood grain. She was quite beautiful, at least according to Caleb’s artist’s eye, and he had completed the portrait. All he worked on now was the background.
“It’s quite good.” Leopold slid the tablet back. “Is she real?”
“Of course she is!” Caleb blustered. “Why wouldn’t she be?”
“I’m just asking.” Leopold smiled and held up his hands defensively. Clearly, he had struck a nerve. “Artists can draw things that don’t exist, you know.”
Placated by the explanation, Caleb began drawing once more.
“Her name is Catherine.”
“I meant what I said about the picture.” Leopold scraped the remaining stew from his bowl. “It’s very good. You have a lot of talent.”
“Dad doesn’t like it,” Caleb muttered.
“Well, he wouldn’t,” Leopold agreed. “He’s not an artist, is he?”
Caleb lowered his voice, emulating his father.
“They’re no good for anything. They don’t put bread on the table.”
“Have you sold any drawings?” Leopold asked. Caleb shook his head. “Then your dad is right on one count. It doesn’t put food on the table. I’m sure feeding you and your family is the most important thing to him.”
Caleb grunted and hunched his shoulders a bit.
“But,” Leopold continued, “what your dad may not be taking into account is that happiness and relaxation are also very important. Drawing clearly makes you happy, so it’s important for you, so long as it doesn’t keep you from helping support the family.”
“I help,” Caleb quickly affirmed. “I have chores and help whenever dad asks.”
“Maybe do a bit more,” Leopold offered. “If you go one step above, do some things your father doesn’t explicitly ask, he may respect you even more. And try not to let his opinion of your art get to you. He’s saying it out of love, even if he is misguided. And don’t stop drawing. You’re good, and it would be a shame to deprive the world of that.”
Leopold slid off his stool and picked up his pack.
“Now, let’s go get me outfitted for my trip, shall we?
————|— ʘ —|————
“Thanks for everything, Bardon, but it’s time for me to go.”
Leopold sat at the bar in the main hall of the tavern. His pack rested near his feet.
“Are you certain there’s no way I can talk you out of this?” Bardon’s words were resigned, but his tone ever hopeful. “You could stay one more night for free. It’d be my Christmas present to you.”
“The weather is perfect for traveling,” Leopold replied. “I’d hate to waste it staying in town for one more day.”
“At least take the road instead of crossing the mountains.”
“Thanks for the advice, but I think I’ll make my own way. Last time I took someone’s advice on Christmas, my life started down a path I can’t escape.”
“And is it a path you shouldn’t be on?” There was an awkward silence as Leopold returned Bardon’s unflinching gaze for a few moments and tried to answer the question for himself.
“It’s uncomfortable,” he finally replied. “It’s unpleasant and unhappy. Those are three of my least favorite feelings.”
“Is it a path you shouldn’t be on?” Bardon persisted. “Many times, the paths we need to take are all the things you just mentioned.”
“Raven said,” Leopold began but stopped. “Anyway, even though I’ve only been here for a short time, this town is already familiar. It’s not going to distract me enough to forget what I’m running from.”
“What’s that?”
This wasn’t a conversation Leopold was interested in having, so he changed the subject.
“What was your father like?”
“Where did that come from?” Bardon asked.
“I don’t want to talk about my life decisions, so I figured we could talk about yours. I’m guessing you weren’t much like him.”
“That’s right. I just wanted to run my business and make a living. I didn’t have a problem staying put, but this town was always too small and boring for him. He wanted adventure. I guess he always had more in common with my brother, David, in that respect.”
“Where’s David now?” Leopold asked. “Is he still off having adventures?”
“He did for most of his life. He’s dead now.”
“Oh.” Leopold was silent for several moments. “How, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“About seven years ago, a sickness swept through our town,” Bardon explained. “Caleb caught it and was doing very badly. We knew LaSoka Melar had medicine, but the mercenaries who live at the mountain pass were having internal fighting, so no one was getting through that way. I asked David to brave the mountains. He was the adventurous type, and for once, I saw that as a benefit.”
Bardon paused, gathering himself. He started and stopped several times before getting the next words out.
“David headed up the mountains, and that’s the last anyone ever saw of him. A winter storm rolled in that evening. We saw it from here. It covered the mountains in more snow than I think I’ve ever seen. I regret every day asking David to go. He loved Caleb and probably would have gone anyway, but I was the one who asked.”
“What about the sickness?” Leopold asked. “Clearly Caleb survived even without medicine.”
“The sickness was bad, and I feel we were justified in assuming the worst. Yet, for as severe as the symptoms were, it wasn’t deadly. Almost everyone in the village got it, but only one person died. And that’s because he went for medicine.”
“And that’s why you’re so scared of the mountains.” Leopold finally understood. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Well, no sense crying over spilled milk.” Bardon swiped the beginnings of tears from his eyes.
“Your father must have been very proud of David.” Leopold chose his next words carefully. “Did he also value what you do? Providing for your family is a noble profession.”
“What have I done with my life?” Bardon asked sharply. “You say I take care of my family, but so did dad. And he was a real man. He wouldn’t have stayed here like a coward when his son was dying.” He paused, then added in a whisper, “Even if it had been me.”
“Your father was clearly an impressive man.” Leopold doubted the truth of the statement, but Bardon clearly believed it. “Your brother also sounds brave, and that’s something to be admired. But just because you aren’t like them doesn’t mean there’s something wrong with you. Everyone is created differently.”
“I don’t know if some are created better than others, or if they just grow to be better people.” Bardon vigorously wiped at a spot on the bar. “But I know that some people are worse, probably not from their creation but because of their bad choices.”
“Let’s get one thing straight, Bardon.” Leopold placed a hand on the barkeep’s arm, drawing his eyes up. “Your father may have been adventurous but, if I may be so bold, he was a fool.”
“You didn’t even know him!” Bardon snapped.
“I know you,” Leopold replied. “For all his virtue, he couldn’t recognize what a great son he had. You weren’t like him, and so he shunned you.”
“That’s not true!”
“Isn’t it?”
Bardon’s silence was more of an answer than any words could have been.
“Your father looked down on you because you were different than him,” Leopold said. “You’re doing the same thing to your son. If you continue, he’s going to end up as conflicted and self-loathing as you are.”
Bardon stole a glance at Jenson, playing in the far corner of the room.
“I don’t look down on my son.”
“Not that one,” Leopold agreed. Bardon was silent. “I’m not saying you’re a bad father. All humans tend to not notice these things in ourselves. It’s not a sin to make a mistake, but now that you know, the sin would be to not correct the problem.”
A heavy silence settled on the room. The squeak of Bardon’s cloth on the bar and an occasional clack of Jenson’s toys were the only sounds.
“I should be heading out.” Leopold stood and retrieved his pack from the floor. “Think about what I said, alright?”
“I will.” Bardon shook Leopold’s hand. “I can’t persuade you to take the road?”
“I promise to try my best not to let the mountains kill me,” Leopold said with a small smile and headed to the door.
The sun was above the horizon though hidden by clouds. As the door slammed shut behind him, Leopold took a deep breath, closing his eyes. The temperature was cool, and there was just a hint of wind coming from the east. Leopold opened his eyes. These were perfect conditions for travel. He hoisted his pack a little and stepped forward.
“Why do you have a death wish?”
The words arrested Leopold’s movement. Caleb sat on a bench on the tavern’s front porch, whittling a piece of wood into the shape of a bird.
“What makes you think I have one?”
“You know the dangers of the mountains, but you still plan on going over them.” Caleb continued to focus on his whittling, seemingly uninterested in the conversation but for the weight of his words. “Either you doubt the mountains will pose a threat, or you don’t care if you die. I think you fully understand the danger.”
“That’s one way to look at it.”
Caleb finally looked up from his work. “Am I wrong?”
“No.”
Leopold almost walked away. He had every right to. He didn’t owe Caleb an explanation. But he needed to get this out, even if the kid didn’t understand a thing he was saying. He took off his pack and sat heavily next to Caleb.
“I know you have problems, but your life is still pretty good. You have a family and friends. You have something worth living for.”
“You don’t?”
Leopold faltered at the question. How could he make Caleb understand?
“Imagine your family wasn’t here. They’re dead, and while you’re not positive, you’re pretty sure it’s your fault, somehow. Your two best friends in the world are gone, and you know that’s your fault. Now imagine you don’t feel comfortable in one place for too long, so you keep moving. You’re always surrounded by strangers, and while some of them are nice, they never get to know you, so you’re always alone. Even in a crowd, you’ve never been more alone in your entire life.”
“Why do you never stay in one place for long?” Caleb asked. “I heard you and dad talking. What are you running from?”
“What’s up here.” Leopold tapped his head with a finger. “I’ve done things and been in places I don’t want to remember, but I can’t forget them. You can’t hide from what’s in your head. You can’t hide from the past.”
“Everyone does things they regret.”
Leopold looked at Caleb and shook his head. They might be the same age, but Leopold had seen much more in his time. He envied the innocence Caleb had, the innocence he himself had lost long ago.
“I’m a mercenary.” Leopold rested his chin on his palm and stared out into the street. “I’ve killed people, stolen things, and done other terrible things. Not long ago, my mentor tried to kill me, and I got separated from my two best friends. They were probably my only friends. So now I’m headed to LaSoka Melar to find some work to take my mind off the past. I figure if I keep moving forward quickly enough, it won’t be able to catch up to me.”
Caleb processed the information silently. When he finally spoke, his words held new respect.
“How long can you keep that up? Everyone has to stop and rest eventually.”
“I know, which is why I don’t care if I die,” Leopold said. “Eventually it’ll happen exactly like you said. When I have to rest, my past will be there to haunt me. I don’t want to be here when that happens.”
The boy stared at Leopold for a long time.
“But don’t worry about that happening to me on this trip,” Leopold said. “Your dad made me promise not to die on the mountains, and I’m not a liar.”
“I don’t guess I can stop you anyway,” Caleb said.
“I don’t suppose you can.” Leopold grabbed his pack and stood up.
“Can I ask you a favor, then?”
“What?”
“Keep an eye out for my uncle,” Caleb said. “I know dad thinks he died on the mountains, but he was too much of a fighter for that. He’s still alive somewhere, either up there or in Melar.”
“If he’s still alive, why would he hide it from his family?” Leopold asked.
“He and dad never saw eye to eye. I think that’s why he never came back.”
If he loved you as much as Bardon said, there’s no way he would have left you without medicine if he were still alive, Leopold thought. Your uncle is dead, kid.
“I’ll keep my eyes open,” he said instead. “If I see him, I’ll let him know you miss him.”
“Thank you.” Caleb stood and shook Leopold’s hand. “May God go with you.”
Leopold nodded and stepped out into the street.
“I guess we’ll find out,” he whispered.
————|— ʘ —|————
The weather was pleasant when Leopold began his journey. The first several mountains were easy going, and by midday he was beginning his ascent of the tallest peak he could see. The way was grueling, even precipitous in spots. Though Leopold was accustomed to scaling sheer castle walls, he was not used to doing so while carrying a full pack and was forced to rest from fatigue several times during the climb.
The sun was setting as he reached the peak. It was one of the tallest in the range and afforded him an incredible view. He could see for leagues in all directions including to the far side of the range. No more than two days’ journey ahead, LaSoka Melar occupied a green valley nestled in the foothills of the mountains. It was considerably larger than the village from which Leopold had come, maybe even large enough to be dubbed a city. The evening lamps were already being lit, a fact which made it all the easier to see.
The sun was close to the horizon, so Leopold searched for a place to rest. A short way down the slope, a small indention in the ground provided a decent windbreak. After a quick meal of traveling rations, Leopold crawled into his blankets and, using his pack as a pillow, prepared for sleep.
Though he was tired from the day’s travel, sleep was elusive as it tended to be these days. To help relax his mind, he repeated his rules, a mantra he had developed over the years and which he used to live by.
One, no wall is perfectly smooth. There are always gaps, crags, imperfections to exploit if you are determined enough.
Two, pain is a weakness, and it will lie to you. Pain will tell you that your fingers are cramping, that your arms have lost their strength, that you cannot continue. You must press through the pain to succeed.
Three, there is a time to sweat, a time to bleed, and a time to cry, but sweat, blood, and tears will only make your grip slip. Avoid them at any cost.
Four, darkness is your foe. It hides the features in a sheer face, drastically increasing the difficulty of climbing it. Look closely, learn to see in the dark, and tame it.
Five, darkness is your friend. It hides you from your enemies to make you a silent weapon. Silence is deadly.
Six, your emotions can be useful, but your temper will always betray you. Control your temper or become a victim to it.
Seven, never give up. Success favors the bold, the impetuous, the persistent.
The mantra was effective, and soon he was dozing fitfully. But though his body found relief in the arms of unconsciousness, his mind could not retreat from the thoughts and memories he so desperately desired to forget.
Daniel’s jeering laugh as he condemned Leopold, Midas, and Raven to their deaths was as difficult to fathom as ever. Even worse was the stabbing pain of betrayal at Raven’s part in the scheme, since Leopold counted her as a friend, no, as more than one.
His unconscious mind wheeled through the subsequent days. Leopold lost a sister he never knew he had, he felt righteous anger when he learned Midas had driven Raven away, and as he abandoned his brother, he felt the complete and utter hopelessness of his situation. Of what worth was his life, in shambles as he now found it?
He awoke with a cry. His blankets were bunched in a knot at his feet, and dirt clung to his sweat-drenched skin. The moon had dipped out of sight to the west, plunging the world into a night even darker than before.
His hand hurt, and it took him a few moments to realize it was clenched tight. In his fist, digging into his palm, was a band of metal, snatched from his pocket during his restless sleep. He carefully unfurled his fingers and stared at the ring, dark against his palm in the dead of night.
He should have sold it long ago, gotten whatever value he could from it. All it served was a reminder of the life he had lost. It picked the scab from the wound every time he saw or felt it. This was the final, pain-filled tie to his past. He should get rid of it.
Just throw it into the darkness.
Leopold stood. He coiled his arm for the throw, but something stopped him.
This was ridiculous. He was running from his past as fast as he could go, but he would never truly be rid of it as long as he kept the ring. He drew his arm back once more. He needed to excise this reminder as he had done with everything else tying him to The Shadow.
Everything except his memories. And his gear. And the mantras he still repeated to himself.
Leopold sank to the ground, the ring clenched in his fist. The same force which prevented him from selling it before now made sure he couldn’t throw it away. Tears rose to his eyes. Why couldn’t he rid himself of this small thing? It was of no use to him now except as a reminder of what he had lost. Why could his body not afford him this one relief?
Leopold considered attempting to continue his journey but dismissed the thought. Traveling along this terrain was dangerous enough when he could see where he was going. Trying to navigate in the dark would mean almost certain death, an end at which, for all his bravado, he found a strange repulsion to arrive.
He repositioned his blankets and crawled into them once again, knowing he would never get back to sleep. He tried his mantra, but the rules warped in his mind to mock him.
One, no wall is perfectly smooth, except that of justice. You cannot scale it to escape your past sins.
Two, pain is a weakness, and you are full of it.
Four, darkness is your foe. It pretends to be your friend, to hide your evil deeds, but then it disappears, leaving you vulnerable to the blinding light of the truth.
Six, your emotions do not betray you. They simply tell the truth, that you are a vile, despicable person with no hope of atonement.
Seven, never give up. Then you can die as you lived: tired and grasping at straws.
Leopold had told Bardon his trouble came from taking Raven’s advice one Christmas, but that was just a façade. If he and Midas had ignored her, they might be well on their way to ruling the kingdom alongside Daniel.
Yet, Leopold knew it was his life of crime, not the path taken that Christmas, which had steered him so wrong. Were it not for his crimes, he would never have been banished by Maria. On the other hand, his life of crime had led him to her in the first place. Without the evil of his past, he would never have met his only remaining family. He was suddenly reminded of something he had heard a long time ago.
“Remember, Jacob, God works everything together for the good of His children. He even says, ‘What man meant for evil, God meant for good.’”
Well, if that was true, where was the good now? If God had used his evil to reunite him with his sister, why had He also used the same evil to steal her away? It was hard to see the good God people talked about so often.
Recognizing the futility of his attempts to get back to sleep, Leopold sat on a nearby rock, gazing listlessly at the lights of LaSoka Melar. Once there, maybe he could take the next step to clearing his head of these questions to which he had no answers. With the right job, he just might go to bed tired enough that he would not have to battle his thoughts every night just to get to sleep.
————|— ʘ —|————
A gust of air whipped through the forest of skeleton trees, stinging Leopold’s face and hands and forcing him to pull his cloak tighter around his body. It was quite effective at warding off the biting wind and bitter cold, but tiny pellets of ice rapped repeatedly against every sliver of exposed skin, rubbing it raw and sapping his body heat.
Stories of winter storms cropping up out of nowhere were usually the result of rampant folklore, but in this case, they were brutally factual. Mild, fall-like weather when he started down a shallow slope quickly turned into a full-blown blizzard before he reached the bottom of the valley. Now Leopold found himself fighting against the wind in an attempt to claw a path out of the gorge.
He continued his struggle for an hour, making no progress for all the energy spent. The snow was falling so hard and fast, he could see no more than an arm’s length in any direction, and for the first time, the danger of the situation truly hit home. The wrong choice now could kill him as effectively as any weapon. This time, however, there would be no chance to beg for his life or to outsmart his executioner. The callously cold and brutal weather would not be swayed by mere mortals.
Leopold slung his pack from his shoulders, and it sank into the thigh-deep snow. No shelter presented itself, so he would have to create his own haven from the deadly cold. He attacked the snow with a vengeance, carving a depression into the landscape until it was deep enough for him to fit inside comfortably.
He had no feeling in most of his body, but his task was almost complete. He retrieved his pack, crawled inside the hastily constructed hole, and removed his traveling cloak, using it to cover the mouth of his retreat. The barrier kept the light out along with the wind, and Leopold was forced to go through his pack by feel. He longed for some dry clothing but had to settle for his partially damp bed rolls which he wrapped around his shoulders.
After a quick meal chased down by a few swallows of cold water, he was ready to sleep. The ground was damp with snowmelt, so he spread out his pack and curled atop it as best he could. The arrangement was uncomfortable, but the day had left him so exhausted he was asleep within minutes.
He awoke to the convulsions of full-body shivers. The confusion of his sleep-addled mind was quickly replaced with the grim realization that his pack, clothes, and blankets were all saturated and freezing to the touch. He shivered uncontrollably as his body struggled to maintain a livable temperature, but Leopold knew this was a futile battle.
There was but one option for survival now; he needed to build a fire. He would have to brave the wind and weather once again, for without action, he would certainly meet his end in this cold, shallow grave.
Grumbling at the turn his fortune had taken, he quickly packed his gear and reached up until he felt the cloth of his cloak above his head. Giving it a good jerk, he freed it from where it was anchored around the mouth of the snow cave, instantly showering himself with a cascade of snow which had fallen on top of it the night before.
“Of all the rotten luck,” Leopold spluttered, spitting the frigid slush from his mouth. A moment later the chill hit, immobilizing him for several seconds as snow melted and slid down his shirt. Shaking the snow from the traveling cloak, he fastened it around his shoulders, slung his pack on his back, and headed out from his shelter.
“I can’t believe this,” Leopold grumbled as he struggled through the waist-deep snow toward a small stand of trees. “How in blazes can snow come out of nowhere? That just doesn’t happen!”
“Of course it does, you dunderhead,” Leopold chided himself. “This is what you get for blazing a trail in a land you know nothing about. It doesn’t do any good to gripe about how impossible your current situation is, does it? It’s time you quit being a baby and look to keeping yourself alive.”
“I am looking to my survival,” Leopold shot back. “Trees are not only a wind break, they’re also fuel. If I can scrape enough wood together to get a fire going, I’ll be fine.” He paused for a moment as if expecting a response but shook his head. “I must be going crazy.”
————|— ʘ —|————
Sparks from the flint and steel were practically invisible against the glaring white of the snow. The sun finally managed to push itself over the mountain ridge to the east, but the rays of light did nothing to warm Leopold or the space around him. In fact, the temperature had dropped significantly, and the wind howled down the canyon as violently as ever.
Far from helping, the rays of sun seemed intent on hindering at every turn. Leopold was half blind from the light forcefully reflecting off the pure white of the freshly fallen snow, and an incredible headache drummed against his skull. All he wanted to do was curl up in dry blankets near a warm fire and go to sleep.
The sparks from the flint and steel strike did not light the kindling, so Leopold adjusted the position of the tools in his hands and tried again. His knife slipped, and the sharp blade cut through the cloth wrapped around his left hand. At the jab from the blade, his numb fingers dropped the block of flint. Leopold used both hands to scoop the stone back into his fist. No matter how bad the damage to his hand, there were more pressing concerns.
The tinder caught on the fifth try. Leopold dropped the flint and knife and hunkered down near the small flames, using his body to shield them from the wind. He meticulously added wood, careful not to smother the flames. Even so, they guttered several times, only to reappear as though by some miracle.
The small twigs on the fire were replaced by branches and finally logs. The final touch, one which Leopold chided himself for not thinking of earlier, was to heap snow together as a wind break. The task was a simple one, and in no time he was seated in his small sanctuary.
Leopold pulled his damp blankets from his pack and spread them out to dry on the dwindling pile of firewood. Next, he tended to the gash on his hand. Though only trickling blood now, it would become messy as soon as it warmed. Repurposing part of his hand wrap, he fastened a few loops of the cloth tightly against the cut. The task, simple in most circumstances, was made significantly more difficult due to the lack of feeling in his hands, and Leopold almost cut himself again in the process.
The fire was getting smaller, and if it died, so would he. He placed the remaining wood on the flames and, pushing his exhaustion aside, steeled himself against the biting wind. Using his remaining strength and willpower, he ventured into the snow, feeling with his toes for branches and logs hidden beneath the thick, white blanket spread over the ground. One hour, and several trips later, he collapsed by the fire, enough wood for two days stacked nearby.
It was almost time to rest, but there was one more thing Leopold needed to do. Gathering the greener branches, he created a thick mat of needles. It was by no means perfect, but it would go a long way toward keeping him off the wet ground. Retrieving his blankets from where they were drying, he wrapped them around his body and curled up on the pine needle bed.
Leopold closed his eyes, and the relief he felt was immense. The most crippling part of his headache disappeared with the sun’s glare, though a dull pain persisted. The stabbing sensation of his fingers, toes, nose, and other extremities regaining feeling was certainly uncomfortable, but it couldn’t keep him from sleeping now that he knew he had a chance of survival.
Something hit the ground with a thud, taking the warmth from his fire with it. Painfully prying his eyelids open, he extracted his face from the blankets and looked at where the fire used to be. The heat from the flames had risen to the branches above and gradually melted the snow there until a large, wet clump slid off, extinguishing the fire.
Cursing loudly, Leopold tried to stand. His bedding tangled in his legs, and he fell to the ground. The effort of freeing his legs from the cloth was monumental, and even as he crawled to the fire pit, he knew he was already dead. Collapsing face-down into the snow, he did not even have the energy to roll onto this back.
With his adrenaline fading quickly, his eyes slipped closed, and he felt himself sliding into unconsciousness. Out of nowhere, he suddenly thought of Jesus, the God of whom Raven had spoken. Supposedly, He could do anything, though Leopold doubted He cared too much about the plight of an ex-assassin. On the other hand, he was going to die out here, so what could a prayer hurt? As he threw a plea for help toward the sky, Leopold’s pain finally disappeared in the blackness of unconsciousness.
————|— ʘ —|————
The first thing Leopold realized was how coarse the fur of his blankets felt against his bare skin. Then he felt pain. It radiated from the left side of his body, especially from his face and hand. If his memory of the past day was correct, he must be dead. He tried to rise from his prone position, but his body protested in bursts of pain from every part.
“Woah! Don’t try to get up yet!”
Leopold felt a hand pushing him back down, and for a moment he had the desire to resist. Then fatigue set in, and he collapsed. He tried to look around, but his eyes were not functioning properly. Blinking them repeatedly did nothing to clear his vision.
“I’m glad that you’re awake, but I don’t think you should be moving just yet.” The voice was deep and gravelly and instantly put Leopold at ease. Everything was going to be alright.
“Where am I?” Leopold’s eyes finally began to focus, and the image of a bearded man came into view. He was surrounded by a hazy halo, and Leopold suddenly knew the answer to his own question. “I’m dead, aren’t I?”
“No, though you gave it your best shot,” the man laughed. “Drink this.”
Leopold’s head was held and a mug of warm liquid pressed against his lips. He took a small sip, spilling most of it down his chest and coughing on the rest. He managed to keep more of it down the second time.
“You’re an angel,” he demanded of the man. His features still had not come into focus, and the halo around him persisted.
“No, just a mortal like yourself.” The man laid Leopold’s head back on his pillow. “My name is David.”
“If you’re not an angel, why do you have a halo?” Leopold asked. “I can’t quite see you because of it.”
“You can’t see me?” David moved very close to Leopold’s face for a moment before retreating. “I’m not surprised. From the look of your eyes, you have snow blindness.”
“What?”
“You’ve seen how the snow becomes blinding under the sun,” David explained. “If you spend too much time looking at it without proper protection for your eyes, you develop snow blindness. Don’t worry, it’s only temporary.”
“Good to know,” Leopold said. “I’d hate to never be able to see my rescuer face-to-face.”
“You’re just lucky I happened to see the smoke from your fire. What are you doing up here, anyway? Don’t you know no one comes over the mountains?”
“That’s what people keep saying,” Leopold said. “Of course, you’re still alive. Your nephew was right. He had a feeling you were still somewhere up here.”
“You talked to Caleb?” David asked, surprise in his voice.
“Yes. I stayed at his father’s inn. Your brother?”
“By blood, yes, though you wouldn’t know it from the way he treated me.” After a moment, David added, “You should get some sleep and regain your strength.”
Leopold agreed, closing his eyes. After a few moments he asked, “David, do you know about Jesus?”
“Religion was never my cup of tea. Too many people trying to manipulate others to get what they want. As for Jesus, he could be real, but if he is, what has he done for me lately? Out here, I can think whatever I want, so I chose to believe he’s an old wives’ tale.”
“You might not believe in him,” Leopold said, “but I think you were His answer to my prayer.”
David said something else, but Leopold could not make it out. He was already slipping into the deep, warm unconsciousness of sleep.