The Road to Fjallmark

Though the morning air was crisp and cold and the ground stiff with frost, the sky that rose over the mountains was a clear and cloudless blue that seemed to promise a day of easy travel. So when they had set out from Forsbyr that morning, Neea Kallenen was sure she had prepared well enough. She was, after all, the town’s Scholar General, and reading the weather was one of the many skills she had acquired in her years at the Conservatory.

She had put on thick, warm leggings, pulled a felt cap over her ears, donned her heaviest woolen cloak, and slipped on leather boots and gloves lined with eiderdown. And Pim, the timid, bright-eyed, curly-headed boy the Guild had assigned to her, had done the same.

Their journey that day would take them north to Fjallmark, a village that was not much more than a spattering of homesteads nestled deep in the mountains. The folk who lived there were a hardy bunch, fierce and independent. But with winter beginning, they were in need of a fresh supply of medicines before the snow settled over the mountain passes and cut them off until spring.

So Neea had gathered up all her supplies—vials of ointments for bad teeth and aching joints, satchels of herbs to brew for colds and fevers—and secured them in a buckskin pack slung across her shoulder. Pim had filled his with water skins and enough food for a few small meals. And just before they left their quarters, Neea took her crossbow from the post where it hung on the wall.

“We shouldn’t have need of it,” she told Pim, who eyed the weapon with apprehension. “But on any journey, especially one that takes you through the wilds, it’s important to be prepared.”

And with that, they were out the door.

Though larger than Fjallmark, Forsbyr itself was but a small mining outpost that sat in the shadow of Mount Stoldjir, the highest peak among the northern ridge. Only a single road of dirt and cobblestone ran through the town, flanked on either side by a collection of timber framed buildings with thatched, yellow roofs. The Nightgate Inn, which for the last two months Neea and Pim had called home, was the only two-storied structure among them. It sat sensibly in the middle of town, its warm, hearth-lit hall drawing a crowd each night to sing and drink and devour the day’s gossip. But apart from the inn, Forsbyr was a sleepy, uneventful place.

The pair strolled down the road, greeting familiar faces as they passed. Eivar, the rangy, gray-haired fletcher, bid them safe travels from his doorway. And barrel-chested Rikkar, the smith, gave Neea a wink and a grin that made her cheeks flush crimson. Ever the loyal apprentice that he was, Pim pretended not to notice.

Soon they had left Forsbyr behind. Outside of town the road wound like a snake from one bend to the next. Rocky and gray, it had been carved from the side of the mountain, and its edges were lined with great pines and firs that stood guard over it like towering sentinels. Occasionally they were greeted by the pleasant song of red-breasted robins that flittered from branch to branch, or a hurried shuffling of leaves on the forest floor as a squirrel scurried out of sight. When they came to a small stone bridge, they paused to watch a stream that had tumbled down the mountain to dance below their feet.

“I know it must seem to you that the Scholars Guild has sent us to the middle of nowhere. But when you stop to look around, don’t you think, Pim, that we’ve found ourselves in the most beautiful place in all the seven steads?”

The boy shrugged. The pale sunlight glimmered through the woods and glistened on the stream as it chattered and bubbled.

“I do like all the mountains and the trees,” he answered. “But I miss my home. And out here isn’t as exciting as a city. I wish they’d sent us to Mailenskord. Or even perhaps to Queen Suuvi’s court in Hakkonvik!”

Neea laughed.

“Oh, there’s excitement here, Pim. It just looks a bit different from the kind you’d find in the city. Far less plotting and politics and far more—adventure! The world out here is so vast, so full of wonder, and I’m sure in time you’ll come to love it. Now, I think we should head on. The sky is looking grayer than it was.”

And indeed, the weather was starting to take a turn. Blue sky gave way to a pall of gray clouds, and soon a soft but steady stream of snow flurries began to drift through the air. They kept along the road for another couple of miles, not once seeing another soul, until at last they came upon a wooden signpost, worn and weather-beaten, that marked the path to Fjallmark. It was no more than a narrow track, wide enough only to allow a horse and a rider, but no cart, and the snow had been falling long enough now that it was already partially covered.

“Let’s break here for lunch,” Neea said.

She dusted off a thin layer of snow that had settled on a fallen tree and sat down. Pim removed his pack and sat beside her, handing her an apple and her water skin and a small hunk of cheese.

“Have you been to Fjallmark before?” he asked her. “Since you lived in Forsbyr when you were a girl?”

“No. I never had reason to go up there. I mostly stayed around the village. Though our old Scholar, Master Timmond, did take me around the woods a bit. He taught me the names of the trees and flowers and roots and how to use them. He showed me how to pick out hidden nests and burrows and how to read the tracks of wolves and cave bears and mountain cats. But,” Neea grinned, her eyes brimming with delight. “The most fascinating things he taught me were the tales and legends of this place, many older than the seven steads themselves. Stories of creatures and spirits and magic that the Sogni tribes believe to this day. Trolls that stalk the mountain passes. Men who can change their skins so that they may look like us one day and wild beasts the next. Caverns deep underground where creatures dwell that cannot abide the light of day.”

Pim’s eyes widened as she spoke.

“But you don’t believe all those things,” he said. “They’re only stories. Superstition.”

Neea looked at his worried face and remembered that he was just a boy, ten winters old, and that they were in the middle of the wild woods and far from the safety of his family and the only home he’d ever known.

“Not to worry, Pim,” she reassured him. “I’ve spent a lot of time in the woods and haven’t yet seen any truth to the stories, though deep down I wish I had. And if I thought the journey wasn’t safe, I’d have left you back at the inn. But we really should start packing up now. This snow’s not letting up and we’ve still got some miles to go before we get there.”

And, she thought to herself, she hadn’t prepared for snowfall. The peaceful blue sky of the morning had deceived her. They would need to find shelter, and quick, if the weather worsened. She smiled at the boy beside her, hoping that her worries didn’t show through.

But as they trekked on, the clouds darkened to a deeper shade of gray. And the snow no longer fell as soft flakes that dallied through the air, but as frozen pellets anxious to reach the ground. They tightened their caps and raised their cowls over their faces. They were only halfway there, and the snow had fallen hard enough that the track was completely covered. For now, at least, Neea could still see clearly enough to make out where they needed to go.

They trudged slowly along, heads bowed low against the wind. It was all they heard now. Long gone were the joyful trills and chirrups of the forest birds, and all the small animals were tucked away safe and sound in their warm burrows.

Neea glanced at her young apprentice, his cloak pulled tight around him, snow clinging to the dark wool. She should never have brought him. She hadn’t known the weather would shift as it did, but she should have known better. She thought the journey might open his eyes to the wild beauty of his new home, as her treks with Master Timmond had done for her. But he was so young, and more used to the comfort of stately stone houses and the safety brought by city walls. Not winter storms in the untamed forests of the north. Not the…

They stopped in their tracks as a chorus of sonorous howls pierced the air.

“Master Neea. Wolves!”

He reached for her arm and she held him close.

“It will be alright, Pim. That was far off in the distance. But we must press on. We’re only a few hours more, but we must go on. And of course,” she patted the crossbow she held. “We always have this for protection.”

They continued on. No more howls rang through the forest, but soon Neea began to notice signs of something just as dangerous. Here and there she spotted a tree whose bark had been stripped away in parts. Some had the appearance of having been bitten, while others showed the markings of claws that had scraped at the trunk. One tree even had a tuft of fur caught on it. She rubbed it between her fingers as Pim looked on.

“It’s the fur of a cave bear,” she explained. “They bite and scratch and rub against the trees to mark their territory. This fur is fresh. The sun has had no time to fade it. But at this time of year, the bears should already be asleep. Keep an eye out as we walk.”

Pim nodded and looked about warily. She could feel the fear exuding from him, and could read his thoughts as clearly as her own. He was afraid of what they might find—a pack of ravenous wolves, or a bear so feral that it stalked the woods for prey while the rest of its kin were asleep. She sighed. She had hoped so much that he would grow to love his new home, but the way this journey was turning out, he was sure to return to Mailenskord as soon as the Scholars Guild allowed it.

They had not made it much farther before the wind began to bellow with such fury that the tall firs and pines trembled like wispy water reeds. It blustered and roared, louder than a rushing river, and lashed at the two travelers, whipping up the snow to gnaw and bite at their eyes. But even worse, it heaped snow on the ground so quickly that it was soon blanketed in a thick layer of white, and Neea could no longer see the path .

The weather had truly caught her off guard. How could she not have read it? She looked at her charge, regretting how foolish she’d been to take the boy along. She could never forgive herself if anything happened to him.

“Pim,” she called out, her muffled voice fighting against the wind. “We must find shelter. Stay close beside me and keep an eye out for any sort of cave or crevice in the mountain.”

The snow was swirling about them now and it was hard to see, but they could make out the rocky base of the mountains not too far ahead. They trudged along, fighting against the wintry onslaught. Thick as their boots were, they couldn’t completely keep the wet and cold of the snow at bay, and it began to seep through and numb their toes.

They searched the mountainside for any cleft or opening, but they were unsuccessful. And just when Neea had begun to lose hope of ever finding shelter, Pim grabbed her arm and pointed.

“A cave, Master Neea! Look!”

She craned her neck to see. There, a short ways ahead, was a cave just as he had said.

“We must approach it carefully,” she instructed. “There’s no telling if a cave bear or a mountain cat has made it its home.”

She held her crossbow in front of her and walked with slow, steady steps. A small orange light shone at the entrance, and as she neared, she saw the light came from a pair of torches that burned in sconces at the opening. Though she felt relieved at the thought of a refuge from the battering wind and snow, a fear overtook her that they had perhaps stumbled upon some hideout used by brigands. But retreating was not an option, for the snowstorm meant a sure death if they hesitated much longer.

Neea took a deep breath and stepped into the entrance. It was tall and spacious, and lived in, but no one was there now. At its center roared a large fire, and over the top, held in place by two thick sticks lodged in the ground, rested a metal spit for cooking. A few lanterns with their flickering candles lay about the cave, bathing its brown walls in splashes of warm and welcoming light. Near the entrance and next to a pile of dry, split wood rested an axe, larger than any Neea had ever seen. Against the wall sat a lute and a large keg and a smattering of cookware and dishes. And further to the back a few woolen blankets were sprawled upon the floor.

The cave certainly belonged to someone—someone large and strong by the looks of that axe—and Neea prayed the storm would end and that they would be long gone before that someone returned. She lowered her cowl, pulled the hood of her cloak back, and brushed the snow from her damp hair.

“Here, Pim. Take a seat by the fire and warm yourself.”

She sat down and removed her boots and gloves, allowing the flames to thaw her frozen fingers and toes. The crossbow sat by her side, ready should she need it. Pim joined her, though he remained alert, his eyes flitting to and fro across the cave and back to the entrance.

They sat in tense silence until, after several minutes passed with no sign of trouble, they let out the breaths they’d been holding. Neea smiled at Pim and patted his back, and she felt his shoulders drop with relief. They were safe and warm and out of the storm, and no wolves or bears had troubled them.

“How long do you think the storm will last, Master Neea?”

“I don’t know,” she replied. “It’s too early in the season for this to continue on for days, but now I’m not so sure. This morning I thought the whole day would be clear.”

She frowned and shook her head.

“I’m so sorry, Pim. I had no idea the danger we would find ourselves in. You’re my charge. It’s my duty to protect you just as much as it is to teach you, and I failed.”

A quiet moment passed before Pim answered, his voice gentle and reassuring in the way only a child’s could be.

“But we did make it okay after all. You got us to safety before anything worse happened. And besides,” he puffed up. “If I’m to be a Scholar one of these days, I need to learn about and experience as much of the world as I can. Even if it may be scary at times.”

Neea beamed at him with admiration. Perhaps this little trek, as fraught as it had been, would awaken a sense of adventure in him after all.

From their seat by the fire, they gazed at the woods just beyond the entrance. The snow drifts had piled high at the base of the tree trunks and only a few green needles peeked out from beneath the heavy white clumps that had settled on the limbs. The wind still howled and whipped the falling snow so that the forest was immersed in a frothing cloud of white. It was peaceful, in a way, to watch the scene unfold from the safety of the cave with its warm and cheerful fire.

But their calm was shattered when the air reverberated with the roar, deep and thundering, of a cave bear. It was so loud and so savage that Pim nearly fell over himself as he scrambled toward Neea. Though she felt her heart racing, she raised a finger to her lips and drilled her eyes into Pim’s, commanding him to stay silent. She clutched her crossbow and rose to her feet as soundlessly as she could. It had been spanned and loaded from the moment they had first heard the wolves howling. Both hands gripping the tiller, she aimed her weapon at the entrance, ready to pull the trigger should the bear approach.

She forced herself to ignore the sound of the driving wind, the crackling of flames, and the pounding of her heart, and to instead focus on the sounds of the beast that lurked nearby. She heard the shuffling of snow under heavy, padded paws, and a series of snorts and grunts and huffs. It was nearing the cave.

Neea could feel Pim trembling behind her. Though she had spent many days of her girlhood exploring the woods, she had never faced anything like this. But she would do everything in her power to protect the boy, so she steeled herself, took a deep breath, and placed her fingers on the trigger. The bear let out another bellowing roar, the sound echoing through the cave itself this time. Its shadow fell across the opening, and in her panic, Neea let loose the bolt too early. It flew out of the cave and lost itself amongst the trees.

She cursed herself silently, knowing that the bear would be on them before she had time to load another bolt. She had failed Pim. If only she had come alone he would still be safe in his room at the inn, a bright future in the Scholars Guild waiting for him. But maybe, slim as it was, she still had a chance to save him. If she threw herself at the bear, distracted it, then perhaps he could flee to safety and find another shelter somewhere until the storm ended.

She braced herself, ready to face the beast and hoping that her death, and Pim’s, if he didn’t manage to escape, would come quickly. But outside all was silent. The shadow that had stretched across the entrance had retreated, and the groans and growls had faded away. Had the bear somehow been scared off?

Pim reached for her hand and she held it tight. They peered out the entrance, watching and waiting, their bodies taut with fear. And then they heard the sound. A rhythmic plodding in the snow. Not like the shuffling paws of a great beast, but rather like the strides of a man. A large man. And suddenly, at the opening of the cave, appeared before them a figure like none they had ever seen.

Broad of shoulder, his head covered in a shock of untamed hair and his face hidden behind a wild beard that fell to his chest, the figure towered over them like a giant. He wore a simple tunic and woolen pants. His large feet were bare and covered with bristly brown hair, as were his arms and chest. His eyes were deep and golden, ancient and primal, as if through them he had seen all that had come and gone in this land since time itself began.

He lingered at the entrance, watching the pair with unblinking eyes and an expressionless face. If their appearance surprised them, he did not show it. Eventually he moved, walking past them with long, languid strides, no more bothered by their presence than a farmer might be by a field mouse. They shuffled out of his way and watched as he busied himself with the cookware in the back of the cave.

“Should we leave, Master Neea?” Pim whispered in her ear.

She watched the man as he stooped to gather plates and tankards and as he dug through barrels and bins.

“No,” she answered. “I don’t think he means us any harm.”

He looked over his shoulder at them and raised a great, bushy eyebrow. Neea knew he had heard their whispers.

He returned to the fire and in his arms he carried plates full of food that he set before them—a loaf of rye bread, apples shining and red, smoked salmon, and even a full wheel of cheese. Then he filled with mead pints so large the pair had to hold them with two hands. He sat by the fire and motioned for them to join him.

“Eat! Drink!”

Though his voice thundered thick and fierce, it was imbued with a warm and friendly timbre. He watched with amusement as they raised the large vessels to their mouths. The wrinkles of his face deepened, and a wide grin stretched from one cheek to the other. His eyes twinkled with delight.

Pim stared in awe at the giant of a man, who gripped his pint in a single massive hand and wolfed down his food in a few quick bites. When they had all finished, Neea gathered the courage to address their host.

“Thank you for your hospitality. My name is Neea Kallenen. I am the Scholar for the town of Forsbyr, and this is my apprentice, Pim Jarnalfson. We were on the way to Fjallmark to deliver medicine when we got lost in the snowstorm. We stumbled upon this cave—your cave—and sought refuge from the storm. We apologize for intruding.”

The man listened patiently as she spoke, a soft smile on his face. As she stared into his eyes, Neea felt that she beheld something more than a man: something older and unknown, something conjured from the legends and folktales that had captured her imagination as a girl, and the mystery of it thrilled her.

“I am called Gramjir,” he said, his deep voice flowing smooth and slow as honey. “I have made my home in these mountains and forests for many years. It is open to any peaceful creature who may have need of it, and I can see, young ones, that your hearts are good and kind. I know we shall become fast friends.”

And with those words, Neea and Pim knew that no further harm would come to them that evening.

“How long have you lived here?” Pim asked.

“I do not know the number of years since I came to be,” he replied. “I was birthed in the Long Night, when the spirits of Darkness reigned over this land, and those dwellers of the deep roamed freely and fed upon the blood of men, women, and children. The Shining Ones bore me, and my brothers and sisters, to guard against them until the spirits of Darkness were subdued and the dwellers of the deep were returned to the bowels of the earth. From this forest I have watched as the Sogni flourished, as their tribes divided the land amongst themselves, as black-haired men from across the Southern Sea bound them and carried them away on ships to unknown lands, and then as the descendants of those captives returned home to build their cities and steads.”

Normally Neea would have noticed Pim’s uneasiness. How, despite the warmth of the fire, he shivered at Gramjir’s words and his skin prickled up into gooseflesh. Instead she sat as if spellbound, her eyes wide and reverent and locked on the figure before them, unaware of anything apart from his rich and lulling voice.

“Gramjir,” Neea asked. “Before you appeared, we heard a cave bear at the entrance. Did you frighten it away? Or are you…?”

The man let loose a loud and hearty laugh that rang through the cave.

“You have guessed correctly, Scholar. I am a skin changer. But even if I had only been a cave bear, that bolt would have done me no harm!”

Neea laughed, but Pim stared blankly at her.

“Do not look so dismayed, young one,” Gramjir directed his attention to Pim now. “You are most safe here.”

“It’s only,” Pim stammered. “The things you have said. How could they be true? They are things I’ve only heard in nursery tales. Or old legends. They can’t possibly be true!”

Neea smiled at the worried boy and put her arm around his shoulder.

“There is more magic and mystery in the world than you can even begin to imagine!” she told him. “It can be frightening when you experience that truth for the first time, especially when it goes against everything you’ve believed to be true of the world. But is that not what a Scholar does? Question the world, examine it from every angle, and marvel at the wonder of it all?”

“But doesn’t it scare you? If skin changers are real,” he glanced uneasily at the massive man, “Then those other things—the Long Night, deep dwellers—horrible things straight out of nightmares could be real as well!”

“Young one,” Gramjir interjected. “Even if there were no magic, no Long Night, no spirits of Darkness, and no dwellers of the deep, the world would still have its share of horrors, for much of the evil in the world comes straight from the hearts of men. But just as there are men and women with pure hearts who strive for peace, the Shining Ones have filled the world with magic and spirits and beings like me to keep it as safe as we can.”

He reached for the lute behind him.

“And now, so that your heart should not be troubled by all that you have learned this night, I shall sing for you of the mighty deeds of great heroes in those dark and ancient days.”

So they gathered the blankets from the floor and warmed themselves by the fire, watching the flames dance as Gramjir played his lute and sang songs never before heard by human ears. Some were beautiful and strange and set their hearts longing for worlds long gone and hidden from sight. Others were mournful tales of sacrifice and lost love that filled their eyes with tears. And still others told of great valor and courage and hope in the midst of despair, of light that glimmered in the darkness until it grew so bright that every last shadow was driven away. And so they drifted off to sleep, safe in Gramjir’s cave, as night fell and the moon rose over the snowy woods.

When the pair awoke in the morning, Gramjir stood over the fire stirring a large pot that hung from the spit. The aroma of warm porridge and honey wafted through the air. But even better was the view outside the cave. The day was clear and bright and the snow lay on the ground soft and still. The storm had ended while they slept.

They ate their breakfast in a comfortable silence, and when they had finished, they gathered their supplies and readied themselves to leave.

“Thank you for your kindness, Gramjir,” Neea said, clasping his large, hairy hand. “You saved our lives and also warmed our hearts with your friendship.”

“Yes,” Pim echoed brightly. “I’ll never forget your kindness, or the songs you shared with us. You’ve shown me the world really is a more wondrous place than I ever dreamed.”

The giant extended a hand to the boy, but Pim threw his arms about him instead. Gramjir smiled and returned the embrace.

“Should you ever find yourselves in these woods, my young friends, visit me again. You will always have a place by my fire.”

He walked with them from the cave, his long, heavy strides dragging up the snow to form deep trenches, and led them back to the path they had wandered from.

“Fjallmark is only a few miles north of here,” he told them. “The weather has calmed, and I have seen to it that you shall have no troubles from any wild creature in these woods. May your journey there and back be swift and peaceful.”

Neea and Pim bid him farewell and proceeded down the path. When they glanced back again, Gramjir had gone. Pim stopped in his tracks and stared forlornly into the distance.

“You alright, Pim?” Neea asked.

He let out a long sigh.

“You were right, Master Neea. This place really is full of adventure. I guess I just wasn’t ready for it to end.”

“I have a feeling this adventure won’t be our last,” she consoled him. “Now, chin up and let’s keep on. Fjallmark is waiting and we should be there in time for lunch.”

They continued on their way, and though they could no longer see him, they could still sense Gramjir’s strong and kindly presence watching over them from somewhere deep within the ancient, wild woods.