Hannah Ross - The Last Outpost - An Antarctic Dystopia

“Tahan, I know you must be busy, preparing for the celebration of your brother establishing his hearth with Re Manari. It is a long walk. Allow me to take Scott myself.”

“Thank you, Ne Riorag. It would be best, I think, if you can take the trouble.”

“Don’t worry. We’ll be back in good time to celebrate Ri Omrek’s and Manari’s new hearth.”

Scott gave Tahan a puzzled look, but she merely nodded, and pursed her lips ever so slightly, as if she wanted to say something else to him, but refrained. Depositing Egan on the grass mat, Scott followed Ne Riorag out of the hut. The Anai man’s walk was so brisk it was a challenge to keep up with him.

“I had planned to go by myself, just to have another look,” Ne Riorag said, “but I am glad you are coming with me. I have some provisions here — dried fish and dried meat and some grain cakes — which should be enough for both of us, if we eat sparingly and walk quickly.”

“But where are we going?” Scott asked.

“You will soon see,” the older man replied mysteriously.

Ne Riorag led him down the way to the river, and then by way of the stepping-stones across it, much like Scott had walked with the Anai men on the way to the bay to hunt. Due to the warmth of the valley, the river seldom froze, but there were some floes of ice on the surface of the water, and the water itself was icy. Ne Riorag passed the slippery stepping-stones as if they were just another part of the path, and continued his brisk walk forward.

“Are we going to the bay?”

“No,” Ne Riorag said. “Fear not, it is not quite so far. But you’d better pull on the hood of your parka,” he said, doing the same thing himself. “It is about to get very cold.”

Scott knew that. As soon as they got away from the blessed zone of the geysers, which gave warmth and life to the valley, the ice and wind of Antarctica hit full blast. Soon, he was shivering with cold as he bent double against the wind, the bite of which was merciless despite the tall rock walls still surrounding them.

“It is always a marvel to me,” Ne Riorag said, “how the spirits had made the valley so warm, and had given it to the First Anai to live in. Surely it was a great gift — but it did come with a price. The valley was not empty when the First Anai came. You know how to read our letters, do you not?”

“I have learned some, yes,” Scott said.

“Then you know about the great beasts the First Anai had to fight in order to make a home in the valley.” Quite without warning, Ne Riorag turned into a narrow, barely noticeable crevice in the rock, which was apparently a side passage of some sort. Scott followed him, puzzled. The rock trail was deep and narrow, and while the protection from the wind was a blessing, Scott could have wished the rocks didn’t tower over them so closely and ominously. Their snow-capped blackness was suffocating, and their nooks and crevices looked as if they were shifting in the intermittent greenish light of the aurora. Finally, they came to a bend in the path, and Ne Riorag stopped and faced Scott.

“Here,” he said, “was a collapse of some sliding rock. Several of our men had happened to be in the area, heard the noise, and decided to look more closely. The rock tumbled down, and it turned out it covered a thick ice sheet. Now the ice is exposed. Come and see.”

Scott did not understand any of this, but he allowed Ne Riorag to lead him on, beyond the bend, where the earth was covered with rocks and boulders, and an immense ice sheet glimmered dully in the dancing lights of the Antarctic sky. The ice sheet formed a huge wall, and Scott admired it as a natural phenomenon, still not understanding what on earth…

He stepped back and gasped. In a single moment when the aurora had flashed more brightly across the sky, he saw something within the ice. It was dark and coiled, and its shape was very distinctive. Yet it could not be…

Ne Riorag lit an oil lamp and held it aloft. “Look,” he told Scott, but he need not have said this. Scott could hardly keep his eyes off what he saw within the ice wall.

It was a beast taller than many men would be, had they all stood on one another’s shoulders. It was huge and scaly, like a giant lizard, with an open, snarling mouth full of long, carnivorous teeth. Its hind legs were like those of an enormous water bird, with flippers, and the front legs ended with three sharp talons each. Its scales, dark grey, had a bluish sheen, possibly lent to it by the thickness of ice. It had wings — huge, leathery wings like those of an enormous bat. They were spread wide, as if the beast was about to take off in flight. Its bright yellow eyes with vertical snake-like pupils were open, and looked malevolently. It was as if it froze all at once, mid-movement, and could wake again at any moment.

“I… what…” Scott could barely speak. He turned to Ne Riorag. “This is—”

“One of the monstrous beasts chased away from the valley by the First Anai,” the elder nodded. “If you doubted our writings, now you must know they are true. Tell me, man from across the sea, have you ever seen anything like it?”

“No,” Scott said slowly. That the great beast was some ancient reptile, he now could not doubt. He could only wonder how many other such specimens were buried, perfectly preserved, in or below the ice. “We know that such animals have existed a long, long time ago,” he went on, “but I have only ever seen bones.”

“Our legends say,” Ne Riorag said, “that the monsters of the valley are buried deep, deep below. It is said that they would only be uncovered as a warning, to test whether the Anai of today are as brave as their ancestors had been. Now you see this great beast, looking as if it could come to life if only this great wall of ice would melt. What am I to make of it, as an elder of the Anai?”

They made the way back in silence. The darkness was unchanging at this time of the year, but judging by the position of the stars, Scott could tell it was evening. They heard the beating of drums from afar, and knew that the villagers were preparing to celebrate the establishment of the new hearth of Ri Omrek and Manari.

Ne Riorag said goodbye to Scott on the edge of the village, and he proceeded to the house of Tahan on his own. Tahan was ready for the festivities, dressed in the same gown of saffron-colored fiber she had worn to the winter celebration, and a parka on top of it. Her hair, contrary to its simple fashion of last time, was pulled up in an elaborate construction of braids, with strings of beads interwoven between them.

“This must have taken you quite a lot of time,” Scott said admiringly, nodding at her hair.

She smiled. “Yes. I don’t often have time to arrange my hair this way. But it’s not every day that my brother starts his own hearth.”

Egan was there too, ready and excited, with a little drum in hand. Tahan handed Scott a huge skin of the fermented grass brew favored by the Anai. “I didn’t have to make food this time,” she said. “Manari’s family took care of it all. But I left my gifts in their new house — they will see them when they come in.”

They began walking in the direction of the central area, where all celebrations were held. The cooking fires were burning, and oil lamps were lit, and from afar, Scott smelled the staple of Anai feasts — whale steaks, well-roasted and finely seasoned. He felt his mouth begin to water.

The young man and woman, dressed in their most festive attire, sat side by side upon a high seat made of ivory and piled up with sealskins. Manari was wearing a sleek long parka against the cold, but the skirt of her dress could be seen below — it was a gown of fiber in deep green, embroidered in purple spirals. Her hair was done up in a fashion similar to Tahan’s, with many braids interwoven and coiled around her head, interspersed by strings of beads.