Twixt Dark and Cold

No one spoke when Klore returned home. His wife and daughter sat both looked up from the fire when he came in, and watched him slowly unwrap the scarf and coat. His boots he carried to the fire, and lay them to dry. 1

He squatted by his daughter and laid his hand on her face. His voice was stretched and tired. “You’ll be needing to go to sleep now. There is not much else worth staying awake for.” He leaned forward and kissed her on the forehead. “Move along now.”2

She smiled then walked to the small pile of blankets in the corner. She burrowed in and pulled them over till she looked like nothing more than a woolen lump.3

His wife had watched him the whole time. When their daughter shuffled off she leaned and quietly asked him “So? What of the old man?”4

He sat by the fire and held his hands over it. She waited. After a time had passed he spoke slowly, and deliberately, letting every word fall like a stone.5

“The winter madness took him. It took four of us to stop him. He spoke of demons and death.”6

“Does he live?” She asked.7

“He does. We barred him in and took away the tools. If he survives till the thaw we can pray the madness will pass.”8

She nodded. Both knew this to be true. Every home in the village could be barred from the outside. The eternal cold and dark of these winters were enough to break a man’s mind. Those who lived to the thaw might find themselves again. For those that did not there was the drop.9

“Rest now.” She said. He curled by the fire silently and pulled a blanket onto himself. After a time his wife fell asleep beside him. He lay and watched the fire dim to coals. He had seen madness before. All men had, brought to it by their fathers. “See this.” they said, “Mark it. The cold will break you if you aren’t strong enough.” And those who were not strong enough to keep their minds would face the drop. He had helped his father along. He knew every step to the drop, and tonight he remembered taking every single one. It was not so far to the edge.10

It was the coals that betrayed him. He heard them speak. “La ni na na.” A nonsense song. But the nonsense stretched into words. 11

“I am here” said the coals. And then, in the back of his mind, they were. Red hot and burning12

“This will do.” The voice felt like thunder in his head. He dragged himself out of the blankets, his body heavy. 13

The voice? In him? He pulled himself to the door and forced it open, then dragged himself out into the snow. It could not be. He was too young.14

He could feel the fire in his mind burning, watching him. In his head its dry chuckles scraped and plowed away bits of his self control. This was the madness.15

“You think you’ve gone mad?” The chuckles grew into full laughs, hysterical and cackling. Then after forever the laughter ceased. “Madness would be an escape. I have no interest in allowing you to do so. Come along now, let’s get you out of the snow before you freeze to death.” 16

Klore shuddered as his legs lifted. He felt muscle tear as he willed them to be still, only to feel them move forward, the legs stabbing with each step. But the pain and the cold were nothing to the agony of the voice.17

“You fight? Oh this will be fun. Let us cause you pain.” Hell exploded in Klore’s mind for just a moment. Darkness and sadness and blood all overwhelmed him, and he fell into the knee deep snow like a rag doll. 18

“Now, let us get out of the cold.”19

Klore stood up awkwardly, as if on strings. He walked through the dark toward the goat shed, which had its own glowing stone fire. His legs had gone numb from cold. He feared the freezing was on them. But then the thought gave him hope. It might stop him, before the madness took hold. 20

When he got into the goat shed he walked to the brazier and stood in front of it. Where he’d frozen began to melt. The pain was excruciating, but it was nothing to the agony of the voice. The goats backed into their pens and shivered silently.21

“Why would you fight me to save this? It’s nothing."22

He had no words, his every thought trying to keep his mind in line.23

“Answer me.”24

He said nothing. To talk to the voice would be to admit the madness. He’d seen the men who had spoken with the voice. They had always taken the drop.25

“Answer me.” 26

And then Hell was in his head again. He stood through it, the taste of maggots on his tongue, the searing poker in his eye. The words escaped him.27

“It is all I have.” The hell vanished, leaving him with the voice.28

“It is hardly worth having. Hase is worshipped by peasants.”29

“Hase will save me from the madness.” Klore spoke the words with all the solemnity of a prayer. It was to Hase they prayed when the thaw came.30

“Hase will not be saving much of anyone when I am done. And he won’t be alone. Every god that passes by my hand makes me greater."31

Klore felt his arm reach out, the hand flexing before him.32

“By our hand, really. When there are none left to believe there will be no more Hase.”33

The hand reached down to a hook over the fire.34

“What is this?” The god asked, pulling a thin length of iron off the hook. It was the length of his forearm, and had a clean sharp edge.35

“A long razor. For shearing.” Klore spoke. 36

Klore felt his mouth open, and words came out in a harsh tone, one as far from his as a river was to a stream. “It is beautiful.”37

The hand dragged the edge of the blade along Klore’s arm, breaking the skin cleanly and without effort. Where it passed there was a red line. After a moment the line filled and began to ooze blood. The voice spoke through Klore again. “I am greatly pleased.”38

The hand raised the bloody razor up to Klore's eyes. “I do not think I have seen anything I like as much as this in ages. This is going to be a great deal of fun." The voice paused. "You have a daughter, don't you?" It asked.39

It was at this moment that Klore's heart beat with such a fervor that it deafened him. To lose himself to the madness was a nightmare, but to lose his daughter? He summoned his will. The arm jerked down. The blade slashed towards his throat. He felt it nick flesh, then stop.40

"I lost you for a second, didn't I? Trying to finish me?" There was a short low laugh. "It won't be so easy." Klore thought of his daughter. His wife. 41

The blade came up and down, slashing along arms and legs, opening up tiny red lines. Each began to well blood. Klore's teeth were gritted as the voice stopped him from biting off his tongue.42

"I will get control. And when I do there will be nothing left of you in here." The voice had stopped speaking through his mouth. He felt it fighting him. He felt himself losing. And Klore knew the words the voice spoke was true. Already the knife was slowing. All his will could only move it at a crawl. He stumbled out of the shed as if drunk. Every step brought with it a slip, the snow slick with blood pouring out of him. If he could only die she would live. His legs moved slowly, finding paths under the snow. They remembered they way. He pulled the razor up, his arm bulging as he pulled it to his neck. And then the razor fell out of a loose hand.43

From Klore’s mouth the madness spoke. “I have you." 44

"You have nothing." Klore spat. He took a single step backwards. There was a rush of air as he fell into the drop. Then a thud as he hit the first boulder. The feeling of flesh on stone was a relief. He bounced down the cliff until his chest hit a jutting rock, slamming a rib through an artery. His heart beat until there was no blood left.45

He laughed through the blood. His daughter. His wife. They would be spared him. 46

“I take the madness with me.” Klore thought as darkness came. 47

The darkness brought with it a quiet answer. “No. No you don't.” 48

The eyes closed. The body was still. A minute passed, and the body lurched. When the eyes opened they were as black as night. Hand followed hand, dragging the body back up the side of the mountain. When it reached the top the corpse bent near double and dragged its hands through the bloody snow. When it stood up it held the razor. The dead man's face broke into a slight smile.49

When the thaw came it brought with it the vultures. They stumbled through the town with full stomachs, oblivious to the bloody circles on every door. Later the traders came for wool, but by then there were only the dried broken bones the vultures left behind.50