Scott Cleveland - Pale Boundaries

Then he encountered the architect of the ravine he’d fallen into.

The frozen crust beneath him vanished and he fell into the darkness. A light appeared below him, approaching rapidly, and behind it his own shocked face as the surface of a misty, black pool rushed up to meet him. Terson plunged into water so cold it felt like fire. He surfaced gasping and floundered toward shore until his knees touched bottom and he crawled out to collapse, exhausted, in the warm mud.

Warm mud?

Terson sat up and wiped water off his face. He’d lost his grip on the flashlight and its beam illuminated the pool from within. It wasn’t mist rising from the water’s surface, he saw.

It was steam.

Terson stuck a hand back into the pool. It felt scalding to his near-frozen digits for a moment, but both the sensation and the steam was misleading. The water was certainly close to body temperature—sixty degrees centigrade, at least—warm enough to awaken sensation in his flesh, but not warm enough to survive in indefinitely. The air, at least, was several degrees warmer near the water than the surrounding forest, a circumstance that might prevent him from ending up like the trees and bushes surrounding the streambed, which the rising steam had encased in a crystalline sheath of glittering ice.

The indirect illumination from the flashlight shining up from the bottom of the pool revealed a shallow undercut in the bank which offered at least some protection from the snow. The synthetic fibers forming his coveralls’ insulating layer shed most of the water that entered through the damaged outer shell leaving him damp instead of soaking, and once out of the wind the battery was able to make some headway against the cold.

It had been mere hours since he’d left the relative comfort and safety of the Minzoku’s submarine. In that time he’d reunited with a friend only to see him die, confronted his tormentors only to be routed, and escaped death by exposure only to enjoy a respite that could not last. Burying a blade in the chest of Virene’s killer should have offered some solace, but his satisfaction over the revenge he thirsted for so badly faded at the prospect of the suffering awaiting him in the next few hours.

In a just universe, a bullet would have caught him in the forehead while he still felt the gush of the bastard’s blood over his hand.

A chorus of inquisitive yips drew Terson’s attention to the opposite bank, the one he’d flown from so inelegantly a short time earlier. Furtive shadows with luminous eyes paced to and fro in the tree line. Apparently his sudden departure from the slope above had not discouraged the creatures from following. They inched closer, seemingly more nervous of the open water between he and they than the light. Eventually a handful of the bravest padded onto the muddy bank.

They were not particularly large—fifteen to twenty kilograms, at a guess—and appeared dog-like at first glance, though closer examination proved the resemblance vague at best. Their heads seemed out of proportion compared to the rest of their bodies, unusually large for the long necks that supported them. The snouts tapered to a rodent-like point and wide, erect ears with tufted tips flicked independently of each other. The tips of retractable claws glinted between the toes of large forepaws and patterns of vertical white and gray stripes broke up dark brown coats.

One or two wouldn’t present much of a danger, but Terson counted at least a dozen in the pack and they appeared a bit gaunt. Like most native life on Nivia they possessed no genetic fear of humans and, unlike those near Saint Anatone, no personal experience that might otherwise cause them to shy away.

Terson decided to educate them.

He seized a nearby rock and sprang from his meager shelter with a shout. The creatures froze, making stationary targets for the stone he flung spinning at the nearest of them. The surprised animal leapt straight up with an ear-splitting screech and scrambled into the trees. The rest of the pack vanished with it, but their retreat was short-lived. Pair by pair their eyes reappeared, but well back in the tree line. Terson decided not to waste any more effort trying to drive them away—they could watch as long as they wanted provided they remained on their side of the stream.

The animals lost interest on their own. Their eyes winked out over the course of an hour while Terson’s bladder filled to the point of discomfort. Only one remained by then. It ventured closer and closer to the bank of the stream until, satisfied that Terson wouldn’t hurl any more objects across, it ventured out to drink. It was twice as large as the others, the coat lush and full without a single rib showing. It sat back on its haunches after slacking its thirst and began to groom, paying the human no mind at all.

Terson decided that he couldn’t hold it any longer. None of the other animals had reappeared, and he wasn’t about to give this one the satisfaction of watching him wet himself. The creature’s mobile ears tracked him like radar when he stepped away from the bank to piss but its eyes remained intent on its own task.

Terson had just finished when the thing pitched its ears fully forward, glanced up and adjusted its stance, eyes intent on something behind him.

Terson spun, swinging his fist with all his might. It caught the first predator in the side of the head mid-leap and sent the animal crashing to the ground, senseless. A second launched itself from the bank above him with jaws agape, claws extended like a double handful of knives. He stepped into the attack, slipping beneath the phalanx to seize the creature by the loose ruff under its chin. His other hand opened to catch the greater part of its weight at the chest as its own momentum carried it up over his head. He straightened his legs to give it a boost and sent it into the pool with a splash. Whatever their other strengths, the creatures were poor swimmers. It struggled futilely for a few seconds before vanishing beneath the black water.

Terson made for the nearest tree.

He leapt for a branch overhead, but his hands slipped from the icy shell and he fell to the ground. He caught movement in his peripheral vision and fended off another lunge with his elbow and a hard kick. With three of their number repelled, at least one fatally, the rest encircled him, none brave enough to charge. Terson shook off his gloves, spit in his hands, and jumped again. This time his hands froze to the ice, providing enough grip to hoist his legs over an adjoining branch.

One of the animals leapt onto the tree trunk. Though its claws were aptly suited to climbing, the sheath of ice couldn’t support its weight and it, too, fell. Meanwhile the rest of the pack fell to fighting over his discarded gloves, reducing them to shreds in a wild tug of war.

Shriveled, ice-coated pods dangled from the branches above Terson. He pulled loose those within reach and flung them down on the heads of the pack until they withdrew from the base of the tree. They settled back on their haunches just out of range, tongues lolling from between their jaws. A few licked and gnawed at the frozen pods he’d thrown, apparently drawn to them by the traces of blood from the missing patches of skin on his hands.

A while later the large pack leader sauntered up from downstream. It eyed him for a moment as if surprised the pack hadn’t already torn him apart and nosed among the shreds of glove until it found one to its liking and settled down, chewing fabric with the same gusto as those with pods.

It must be the blood, Terson thought. His coverall was covered with it from handling Zarn’s body as well as from the wounds he’d inflicted on the man responsible for Virene’s death. Hopefully they’d take what they had and leave.