“One life isn’t of greater value than another,” Heinrich said. The moment he said it he knew it wasn’t fair for him to say that. After all, he valued his son’s life above his own. His men’s lives too. He wished it was he, and not Klein and Brisby, who’d been taken by whatever swam in the depths of the lake.
“His was,” Gunther said. “Why is it that the heroes always die?”
Heinrich had no answer, though he suspected that it was because heroes always ran toward danger, rather than away from it.
“What did it look like?” Carver asked. “The thing that got them. The thing that carved up your leg.”
Gunther shook his head, but it wasn’t a refusal to answer. It was a shake of fear as a memory was unleashed like a wild animal. “We were swimming along, searching. The thing was smart, attacking from behind—we never saw it coming until it was too late.” He paused, licking his lips, but no one interrupted him. “I felt it brush by my leg, all rough scales and strength. Then I felt the pain, like a red-hot poker shoved under my skin. Don’t know if it was a warning blow or if it was just tasting me, but before I knew what was happening Bris was shoving me out of the way and screaming for me to ‘Swim!’ and diving in front of me just as it came up, rising from the water like a monster of the underworld, its skin as dark as tar, with red eyes and a mouth full of long curved fangs as long as my forearm if they were an inch. Those jaws opened so wide the beast could’ve fit both of us inside, but Bris had knocked me far enough away that it could only grab…”
He bit back the last word, breathing deeply. “I swam like I’ve never swam before, I’m not ashamed to say it. Bris was already gone and I wouldn’t waste his sacrifice. I don’t know if the thing was full or bored of me or what. But I made it. Somehow, I made it to tell this tale.”
Heinrich stooped down. “There was nothing you could do. I hope you know that. You were searching for Klein, risking your own life. You’re a hero, too. Which means heroes don’t always die. Otherwise there’d be no heroes, and yet here we are, in the presence of an entire company of them.”
Gunther pursed his lips, but didn’t respond.
“I got something to say,” Carver said. For many years, the small, thin ginger man had been like the mother of the company. He was always fretting over whether the men were dressed warmly enough, whether they were eating enough or drinking enough or sleeping enough. Though the men often japed about his manhood—which was as small as he was—they all knew he was as much a man as the rest of them. “Klein was me friend, ain’t no mistake. Once he confided in me that without the company he would’ve probably been working in the Crimean mines, breathing in rock dust and hating his life. He told me we were his life.”
Heinrich never knew the man had felt so strongly, and the story sent a warm shiver up his spine. “Thank you for telling us that.”
Carver nodded.
From there, other men began chiming in, offering their own stories about Klein and Brisby. Josun, whose tent was close enough to hear everything they were saying, eventually joined them, speaking last. “I loved Kleiner like a brother,” he said. “I was my mother’s first, and she died bringing me into this world. My father was a drunk and couldn’t find another woman any more than a steady job. I had friends, sure, but none like Klein. He liked to say that regardless of whom our parents were, the same blood flowed through both our veins.”
No one said anything for a long time after Jos fell silent, everyone content to watch the flames eat their way through the crisscrossing pyramid of wood.
One by one, the men slipped away from the fire, going to bed, until only Heinrich and Ousted remained.
“What the hell are we going to do?” Ousted asked.
Heinrich knew these men were strong, capable of dealing with great tragedy and moving on. But sometimes even the strongest of men needed something to distract their grief.
“We’re going to kill the monster,” he said.
“No one goes into the water, except to bathe and warm up in the shallows. Even then, there will always be a spotter on the shore. Vigilance is paramount.” The men nodded in agreement. “Good,” Heinrich said. “Now, are there any suggestions for how to kill it?”
“What?” Carver said.
“Did I mumble?”
“No—but you can’t be serious. That thing—that monster—killed Klein and Brisby.”
“Your point?”
“It’s dangerous.”
“So are we. We’ve fought the great ocean crocs in the Crimean Sea, faced northern grizzlies in the Anzac Mountains, squared off against flocks of flesh-eating bone eagles in East Scion. We’ve fought monsters before.”
“This is different,” Gunther said. “You didn’t see this thing.”
“The only thing that is different is that this monster killed our friends.”
“We don’t even know if it’s the only one of them,” Gunther said. Carver had cauterized the wound and bandaged it tightly to prevent infection. Other than that, the man was no worse for wear, though Heinrich had noticed him staring off into space a few times, presumably seeing images only his eyes could see.
“You think a large predator like that would be willing to share its lake with another?”
“He could have a mate. Or children. You want to face a monster brood? For what purpose? You’ll only get more of us killed.”
His words stung, but Heinrich had already made up his mind. They hadn’t come all this way to give up the warm waters of the lake. He would colonize this land, and to do so they’d need to rid the land, and lake, of the most dangerous predators.
“That monster will kill again. Maybe not me, or you, or any of us. Maybe not anyone we know. But someday, explorers like us will happen upon this very lake, and they will die because we did nothing. Do you want their blood on your hands? I don’t.”
One by one, he could see the agreement in their eyes. Even Gunther and Carver grudgingly came to terms with the notion, though Gunther had one more question: “How?”
“First we need some bait,” Heinrich said.
The bait was an elk they managed to bring down on the tundra. Heinrich could see the way the men stared longingly at the fresh meat, but he refused to give in. “Tonight we’ll be feasting on roasted lake monster!” he declared, earning a chuckle from the men. It broke the tension and raised the mood, something he’d learned to do years ago. Happy explorers were the hardest working.
Using rope, they fashioned a harness of sorts around the dead animal. The rope wasn’t meant to do anything but hold the bait. They fully expected the monster to chew right through the rope, the meat, the bones…everything. Which was why they planted their hook, a long hooked barb usually used to attach to cargo sleds that were then pulled across the ice, deep inside the elk’s chest cavity. The hook was secured to linked steel chains they’d removed from the cargo sleds. They had to connect every single one of the chains they possessed to make a single tether long enough to feed out into the water. It was a risk, Heinrich knew—if they lost the chains they wouldn’t be able to carry nearly as much food with them for the rest of their expedition. Finally, they built a small wooden raft of sorts, which they attached to the fresh meat. They would push the raft out into the water, and the meat would dart through the water beneath the dirigible, hopefully tempting the murderous monster to make an appearance. With any luck, it would eat the bait whole, swallow the hook, and then the real fight would begin. Heinrich was most worried about this part. Landing an impossibly large lake monster wouldn’t be the same as fighting a normal-sized fish. It would take all of them to haul it in, and that still might not be enough. As a precaution, they secured the end of the chain to one of the metal cargo sleds after removing its runners. Then, using ten men to a boulder, they rolled the largest stones they could find on top of the sled. It was the best they could do for an anchor, and Heinrich was optimistic it would hold.
The entire setup took the better part of the day to achieve, and now they were all
anxious to test it out.
“Think it’ll work, Cap’n?” Ousted asked as they watched several of the men manhandle the elk carcass over to the water’s edge. Three men trailed behind them, unspooling the coil of metal chain.
“It had better,” Heinrich said. “Otherwise we might have a mutiny on our hands.”
He was joking, but Ousted didn’t laugh. Heinrich wondered if there was more truth to what he’d said than he thought.
Finally, the men waded waist-deep into the water while the others watched for any sign of danger. With a great “Heave-ho!” they shoved the raft as far out into the water as they could, before swiftly retreating to the safety of dry ground.
Heinrich held his breath, watching as the raft slowly bobbed out into the lake, dragging its cargo somewhere beneath the water’s surface. It caught the current, starting to turn, to move downstream, and—
Back to shore.
“Damn,” Heinrich said. The rest of the men groaned as the waders ran along the shoreline to retrieve the raft, which had gotten stuck on a jagged protruding rock.
“What now?” Ousted asked.
“Someone’s got to take it out further,” Heinrich said.
Ousted laughed as if it was the funniest thing he’d heard all day. “Good luck finding a volunteer for that job.”
Heinrich stared out into the water, eagle focused. “Good thing we don’t need to find a volunteer.”
“Why not?”
“Because we already have one.”
“Who?”
“Me.”
The warm water sent a thrill through Heinrich’s body, lapping against his shoulders and chin as he clung to the raft. He kicked as gently as he could, doing his best not to draw attention to his movement into the lake. He wore dark, tight underclothes, which he hoped would make him less visible than his pale skin without hindering his speed too much.
Still, he could easily see his churning legs beneath the water, which almost certainly meant the monster would be able to see them too.
The thought made him want to turn around and swim back to shore. Just a little further, he thought. He didn’t look back, though he sensed the anxious stares of his entire company of men on his back.
The sun seemed to be following his progress east, another silent spectator to whatever was about to transpire.
Finally, Heinrich hazarded a glance back to find he was a respectable distance from shore. He hoped it was far enough to prevent the current from dragging the raft back against the rocks. He prepared to give the raft one final shove before turning around.
His men started shouting.
A bubble of panic burst in his chest as he whipped his head around to find his men screaming and waving and pointing at something in the water.
Shiteshiteshite! he thought as he spun back around. What he saw sent a quake through his entire body:
A line of whitewater was being pushed to either side, forming a V that trailed away toward the opposite shore. Something dark and scaly was at the apex of the V, sliding as easily through the water as a knife through soft butter. A thick hump rose up attached to a head larger than three men lying end to end, enormous red half-sphere eyes roaming hungrily across the water.
The monster was headed right for him.
Heinrich didn’t think, just acted. Though his body was urging him to Swim! Swim dammit! he went against every instinct, instead climbing aboard the makeshift raft that wasn’t designed to hold the weight of a human. It bucked and writhed under his awkward weight, but he managed to keep his balance until it steadied. He looked back to find that the monster had cut the distance in half and seemed to be gaining speed as it closed in on its prey. Him.
Using small movements, Heinrich unsheathed the only weapon that had been small enough to carry with him out into the water: a small but sharp paring knife. It would be useless in direct combat against the creature, but he could use it to buy him some time. He went to work on the ropes that secured the bait to the raft, sawing them away at each corner.
When he’d cut away the last tether, the raft rose higher in the water as it released its underwater cargo. But it was too late—the monster was upon him, so close that he could see his own reflection in the glassy red eyes, which seemed to not only be staring at him, but staring through him, into his soul. Those eyes were ageless, timeless, ancient. That was the only way he could describe them later, like they’d seen everything from the beginning of time.
He didn’t stand a chance. Heinrich prepared to spring as far away from the raft as possible the moment the monster struck. Adrenaline coursed through his veins as the eyes closed in…
And then vanished beneath the surface. Heinrich blinked, uncertain what to do. If the monster chose to come up from beneath him, he’d be swallowed in a single bite. Should he abandon the raft now, take his chances swimming to shore? But what if the monster was going after the bai—
Onshore, his men’s shouts changed from those of warning to excitement. Fear, too, but mostly excitement.
The metal chain burst from the water, going tight. Ousted was forced to dive out of the way to avoid getting slashed in half by the steel links as they snapped back and forth like a snake’s tail.
We’ve hooked it! Heinrich thought, his fear swiftly replaced with exhilaration. Momentarily forgetting his own plight, he watched as his men leaped into action. As planned, ten of them threw themselves on the chain, engaged in the most epic game of Haul the Rope the world had ever witnessed.
They dug their heels into small divots they’d cut into the snow for this very purpose, leaning back against the weight of the monster as it fought them.
The sled, even without its runners and weighed down by several enormous boulders, began to slide toward the water.
“No!” Gunther yelled, jumping dangerously in front of it with a dozen other men. They planted their own feet and pushed against the weight, stalling its progress.
The ten men on the chain tired and were replaced by ten more men.
The plan is working, Heinrich thought as his men settled into a rhythm, taking turns on the chain and holding back the sled. One group was always resting while the other two toiled. They all knew it could take hours to tire out the monster, but they were prepared for that, their stamina strong after months of hiking through the Mournful Mountains and across the northern tundra.
The monster was distracted, in a fight for its life. Time to make my escape. Lying flat on his stomach on the raft, Heinrich began to paddle for shore.
He was halfway there when something changed.
The chain went slack, causing his men to tumble backwards. Heinrich stopped paddling, watching as the metal links sunk back into the lake. What in the frozen hell?
He searched the water, which was suddenly as still as he’d ever seen it. Had they lost their prey? Had the monster chewed through the metal? Or perhaps the hook wasn’t planted deeply enough and slipped out. If so, would the creature swim far away? Or would it come back for him, for revenge?
On shore, the men had righted themselves and began to pull on the chain, which offered no resistance as they reeled it in.
Something stirred in the water, a faint ripple, moving straight for the shore. Straight for his men. “Watch out!” he screamed, instinct warning him that, even on dry land, they were the ones in danger, not him.
Surprised, his men stared at him, uncertain of what he was warning them about. They looked around and behind them, as if expecting an attack from the land.
That’s when the monster struck. It burst from the water as close to the shoreline as it could get, its dark sinuous body launching through the air, water spraying in all directions.
Heinrich watched in horrified awe. Out of the water, the creature was strangely beautiful, its scales seeming to change color—red, green, blue, gold—as they reflected the last rays of dying sunlight. Its tail was comprised of three large flippers which seemed to flap, propelling it through the air. It was unbelievably long, perhaps
the length of twenty men lying head to feet. Its head was humped and Heinrich suspected it was bone-hard.
All of these thoughts spun through his head in an instant.
His men scattered like an armful of dropped kindling, releasing the chain and diving away. One of them, however, Matthias, was too slow.
The monster’s open jaws landed on top of him, slamming his body to the rocky ground, snapping ferociously. With a powerful twist of its body, the beast turned and rolled back across the rocks, splashing back into the water and vanishing.
Something bumped the bottom of the raft, throwing Heinrich off balance.
He paddled for shore faster than ever, oblivious to the cries of his men as they righted themselves and urged him on. Another heavy impact shook the raft. Is it taunting me?
He was close now, so close he could see the bottom. I’m going to make it. Just two more strong paddles…
One voice rose above the rest. Ousted. “Behind you, Cap’n!”
Heinrich didn’t look back, instinct telling him there wasn’t time. Instead of paddling he rose rapidly to a crouch and then launched himself into the air, both forward toward shore but also to the side. He felt the raft rise up behind him, whacking him in the ankle and then shoulder, knocking him into an awkward, twisting flip. Gooosh! He hit the water headfirst with a powerful slap, water rushing around him, plugging his nose. It was disorienting, and for a moment he struggled to determine which way was up.
A dark behemoth slid past, bits of shattered wood flurrying around it like brown snowflakes.
Heinrich regained his wits, kicking hard for the surface, in the direction he hoped was shore. He came up gasping within arm’s reach of the same protruding rock that had previously captured the raft. Though he grabbed the rock, there was no need, for his men were already there, tucking strong hands under his armpits and hauling him out of the water. They didn’t lie him on the ground immediately—no, they’d all seen what the monster was capable of when it had grabbed Matthias—instead carrying him a distance back from the lake before settling him down in the snow.