The South Pole

Another short scene from "The Shadows of the Past." A brief glimpse into the deimos expedition to the south pole, led by Lerion.

The wind was beginning to swell. The flakes of ice in its grasp pelted at the hides protecting Lerion's body from their cruel assaults, teething at him one last time. It was a love bite, from a wild and always-hungry beast. And yet, ultimately it was a kindness. A not-so-gentle reminder that far worse was about to come.

The gale carried with it the dull sounds of thunder, but there were no lightning storms in this frozen tundra at the end of the world. There was only ice, and the vacuum of living warmth that was the eternal cold. There was nothing as passionate as electricity here, only the shrieking cries of the air and the stoic migration of glaciers. But the thunder was real, only it portended something else entirely. It heralded the true might of the storm on the horizon, and the bellows meant that it had reached the mountains.

Avalanches. Dozens of them.

He was safely far away from those murderous peaks. Their jagged edges and hooked features were now at least a distant memory. So too, were the frozen blocks of ice that were some of his comrades.

The pallid sheen of permafrost greeted him, dulling and diffusing his reflection in a crude, broken, and disturbing manner. It was a vision of himself as a twisted, broken man. One who was torn ragged and bent by everything around him.

The flakes assailing his furs had grown in size. Their edges were becoming larger, and sharper. Lerion ducked his chin down, pulling the hood closer over his eyes. The winds swirled and raked at him, and the air itself began to thicken. It was subtle, so discreet that it was hard to notice until it was too late. A haze was falling, turning everything white. He hugged himself, willing the precious warmth to resist the tempting invitation of the frigid air around him and stay inside. He veered westwards towards the coast, to the ocean, to the rendezvous point.

Now he ran. Every step he made in the snow was almost instantly filled. Devoured and consumed, all trace of it gone as if it had never been. Climbing anchors embedded in the rocks passed in and out of his peripherals, encased in ice. Though he could not see them, Lerion knew that their tent stakes were buried elsewhere around here, likely in too many layers to dig up anymore. He pressed on.

The whiteness enveloped him, obscuring even the ice that fell all around him. It was a perfect colorless, blank void; blotting out the sun and reflecting only its own blanched hues. Everything below his ankles disappeared, engulfed by the pallid ground. There was only him, with nothing behind him, to the sides, or ahead. He pushed and trudged forth.

Finally, the mists began to clear. Boulders, frozen formations, and the ground itself began to reappear. And then, the sky. Beyond that, the ocean. His men were waiting. So was the ship. Home.

His footsteps slowed. The sprint eased into a jog, and then to a trot. He came to a stop. Turning around, he faced the endless wastes of tundra. Once more, he gazed upon the icy landscape. Months ago, he and his team looked upon this very sight with great and dreaded expectation.

They had explored this land's depths. Ascended its peaks and dived into its crevices. They had walked across mountains and glaciers. They had huddled together, fell into despair and panic, struggled to find one another, and died here. Marching through wastelands, enduring the cold and fractured landscape, they had lived here.

But everything they touched had been buried and devoured. The unlucky had themselves been so claimed. The south pole had remained undisturbed for eons, and in retaliation for this intrusion it insured that no trace of their passing should remain.

He turned and continued on. The others waited.

Lerion leaned atop the railing as the ship drew away and veered towards iceberg infested waters. His teammates were down below decks, enjoying the company of other human beings and actual warm food and drink. The thought of all that was appealing, but not quite yet.

Even after his ordeal, even the whole expedition, he couldn't bear to waste any moments to gaze upon and absorb the landscape. Shrinking in the growing distance was the coastline and horizon. He wondered when others would next set foot on the frozen continent. How far would they go? How long would they survive? What would they be thinking?

The loneliness would be gripping, dominating and crushing on their minds. He imagined these future explorers struggling across a land that itself tried to kill them, just as it had done to him and his team. Every ridge, corner, and drop posed a danger. There was always the morbid curiosity of who would be the next to succumb, to lie down and never again stir or to just wander off into the wastes.

It would be only the most miraculous of luck if they traveled to the spots where Lerion and his team had ventured. There were no blazed trails or carved paths in an environment such as this. But there was something left.

Three rocks, each stacked upon one another. A simple cairn. No words, or engravings, or signposts had otherwise been left. But the meaning was clear.

We were there. We survived long enough to get to this point. And you can, too.

Author's Note

I usually proofread my works, however as always I'm sure there are typos and syntax errors. I appreciate any and all notices of that, and will work to correct those. If I haven't do know that I did acknowledge your notice and try implementing it, but found that it detracted from the effect I wanted and so omitted it.