Harlan woke in the middle of the night and couldn't fall back asleep. He tossed on his hard cot, listening to the wind claw at the roof like a beast begging to be let in. He replayed yesterday in his head, then the whole four-week journey north. His thoughts circled until the pre-dawn hours, when it was time to get up.

  Breakfast was scant—a piece of stringy ham and a hunk of bread. Both had traveled with Harlan nearly all the way from the city. The taste and texture matched the age: like chewing a boulder wrapped in an old belt.

  And yet, he was glad.

  *Good thing the mine boys told me to pack my own food,* he thought, gnawing off a piece and grimacing. *Saves money. Just have to make sure I don't break my teeth.*

  Finished with the snack, Harlan packed his rucksack, stuffing in practically everything he owned, and stepped out into the frost. The morning air struck his lungs like an icy blade. It smelled of snow, pine needles, and coal smoke.

  Garret was already waiting at the gate. Around him, the rest of the group—a trio Harlan had never seen before—bustled about. They secured tarps, tents, tools, and crates of rations to the sleds. Garret introduced them quickly, all business.

  Thorren, a massive brute with a beard crusted in ice, deftly cinched knots on the sleds with such force the ropes creaked in protest. He looked like a boulder that had learned to walk.

  “New guy?” he boomed without turning around. “Where’d you dig him up, Garret?”

  Kel hovered nearby—a lean, wiry man with restless eyes and quick, nervous hands. He checked Thorren’s work, yanking at every knot.

  “Too loose,” he muttered to himself. “It comes loose on the pass. Everything always comes loose...”

  Kel looked up from his fretted-over knots for just a second and fixed Harlan with a sharp, assessing gaze. Harlan felt a chill run down his spine. The only thing missing was a price tag.

  But Kel went right back to the packs. “Hey, rookie,” he said, casually, then resumed his lament. “And look here, Thorren, what kind of hackwork is this?”

  The third man, Mark, stayed out of Kel and Thorren’s knot-tying misery. He stood apart and smoked, shielding the ember with a gloved palm. Unlike the others, gray hadn't yet touched his dark mustache, but his gaze was heavy. He said nothing to Harlan, just nodded and exhaled a thin stream of smoke toward the mountains, staring somewhere past the horizon.

  “Ready?” Garret asked curtly when Harlan strapped his rucksack to the common load.

  “Ready.”

  Thorren finished with the knots, walked over, and clapped Harlan on the shoulder—friendly, but hard enough to nearly drive him into the ground.

  “Welcome to the crew, kid.”

  That was the ceremony. Garret barked a command:

  “Move out.”

  They passed the guard post, and the walls of Snownorth vanished behind them. Low, foggy valleys stretched out around them; hills rose covered in black grass that looked lacquered, pushing up through the crust. And ahead, blocking out half the sky, mountains rose.

  “Garret, how long until we reach the spot?” Harlan asked, falling in at the tail of the column.

  “Two days to the edge of my claim. To the places worth searching—a couple of weeks.”

  “That far?”

  “You bet. Plenty of territory out here, but ground fit for mining? Damn near nothing.”

  “What’s in the mountains?” Harlan couldn’t help asking.

  “If we’re lucky—crystals. If not—monsters. Usually, it’s monsters first, then nothing,” Garret gave a tired chuckle.

  “Do they often—”

  “Save your breath, kid. You’ll let all the heat out before you even hit the Wilds,” Thorren rumbled cheerfully. “Walk. We'll have time for stories later.”

  Harlan stopped and wrapped his scarf tighter, sinking into a contemplation of the landscape.

  For a while, they walked in sled tracks left by another expedition that had likely set out an hour or two earlier. The runner paths wound past the valley and looped among slopes growing sparse clumps of spruce and shrubs. You couldn't really call it a forest—more like a thin copse, growing like hair on a balding man’s head: now and then, a snowy bald patch.

  After a couple of kilometers, they turned sharply north, toward the mountains. Now they began to break the crust entirely on their own. The snow crunched so loudly underfoot that Harlan kept slowing down, afraid to wake the earth itself.

  Even the wind was different here than in the settlement: it didn’t gust, but pressed constantly, scraping the heat right out from under his clothes.

  ?

  They walked all day, taking only short breaks, but the real mountains were still far off.

  When darkness fell, they set camp by a frozen stream. Its presence was only a guess based on the terrain: a narrow hollow stretching between two low banks. The water had long ago gone under a shell of cloudy ice, but every now and then a dull *crack* came from the depths—as if something was moving down there.

  Garret showed Harlan how to pitch a low, wind-cutting tent and how to pack the snow edge so gusts wouldn’t pry it up.

  “Look here.” He handed Harlan a matte cylinder. “Crystal heater. Set it to ‘stove’ and the tent stays warm—no spark, no smoke. Gives barely any light, though. But we still douse the main fire for the night. No need to attract attention.”

  Garret went to pitch his own tent, leaving Harlan to fiddle with the device by the fire. A few minutes later, Thorren came over to warm up. The big man dropped heavily onto a crate of provisions, pulled off his hat, and scrubbed his temples hard with snow. His face was gray; his brows drawn tight to the bridge of his nose.

  “What’s wrong, Thorren?” Harlan asked, seeing the grimace of pain. “Draft get you?”

  “Nah,” he waved it off, continuing to massage his temples with force. “Pressure shifts out here. Head aches a bit. Always like this the first days of a hike, then it passes.”

  “Maybe ask Garret for a pill? If it hurts bad...”

  “Pfft, bad?” Thorren gave a crooked smirk without opening his eyes. “Bullshit. Now, when you catch Backlash from the Field—that’s bad. Feels like someone drove a nail into your ear and you can't pull it out. This? Rubbish. Just an itch.”

  Harlan froze with the heater in his hands.

  “Backlash from the Field?” he repeated, staring at the big man. “You say that like you’ve tried it yourself.”

  Thorren cut himself short. His hand froze at his temple. He slowly opened his eyes and pulled his hat back on.

  “Just heard things...” The big man looked away. “Had an uncle who was a mage, told me all sorts of stuff. Complained constantly.”

  “An uncle, huh?” Harlan’s eyes widened. “And you?”

  Thorren looked at the kid and sighed, rubbing his temples again.

  “And I, kid, just talk too much when I’m tired,” he grumbled finally. “Yeah, I know a little. The very basics. Happy?”

  “Wow! So you're a mage!” Harlan nearly dropped the heater. “Can you show me?”

  “Did you listen to a word I said?” Thorren snorted, irritated. “My head is splitting from this pressure, and if I touch the Field now, I’ll collapse for two days. You’ve probably imagined all sorts of things. I’m no storybook wizard. Think of me as... a slightly stronger fighter.”

  He pointedly turned away to the fire and stretched his hands out to it. Then added:

  “I sincerely hope I won’t have to show you anything.”

  “That would be cool...” Harlan drawled dreamily.

  “Doesn’t seem that way to me,” the giant cut him off, pulling his hood deeper.

  Seeing him sulk, Harlan stopped asking questions.

  The others approached; everyone ate dry rations and began preparing for sleep.

  Harlan noted with pleasure that being in an expedition was profitable—you didn't spend your own money on housing and food, and didn't have to buy ale for five ents. He winced again, remembering the prices. *Though really it’s a loan. They’ll still deduct it from the share later.*

  “Don’t be afraid,” Garret said quietly, noticing Harlan peering into the darkness beyond the circle of light. “Fear the first time is normal. Means you’re still alive.”

  “Huh? Oh no, I was thinking about something else just now,” Harlan surfaced from his financial reflections. “But about fear too. Do you guys get scared?”

  “We do. Maybe that’s why I’m still here. Fear keeps you sharp.”

  After a short pause, Garret glanced at his pocket watch and added:

  “Time to sleep. First watch is Thorren, we swap every two hours. For now, sleep soundly. You’re up third.”

  ?

  The night turned out quiet, and the darkness around the camp seemed almost tangible. The slopes merged into black masses, as if shifting closer while no one was looking. Only rarely was the silence broken by the whistle of night birds and the rustle of scree.

  They didn’t trust the newcomer to stand the first watch alone. Harlan shared his stretch with Kel. The man stayed mostly silent, but from time to time he lifted his head, listened to the sounds of the night, and then relaxed again. Harlan tried to imitate him, but, as before, heard nothing suspicious.

  Finally, even Kel calmed down. He lit a couple of splinters, and the fire briefly snatched his face from the darkness. He smoked, hiding the ember in his palms. The smoke barely left the camp, and Harlan smelled strong tobacco.

  “Well, not dozed off yet?” he asked quietly, so as not to wake the others.

  “Of course not, I’m on watch,” Harlan answered just as quietly.

  “Good man. Wish I had your grit at your age. About ten years ago, I nodded off once... Nearly got everyone killed. Learn from others' mistakes. Lucky Garret pulled us out. He looks like he's sleeping, but the moment there's danger—he's on his feet.”

  Harlan raised his eyebrows and scratched his nose, waving away the smoke with his other hand.

  “You’ve been here so long? And all this time with Garret?”

  “Well, twelve years for sure. And yeah, almost all the time with him. First couple of years I walked with whoever, then only with him. There's something to compare to.”

  “And what about this ‘bad streak’? Why did you stay?”

  “Don’t tell me you fell for that nonsense.”

  “If I’d fallen for it, would I be here?” Harlan countered.

  “True enough.”

  Kel took a long drag and continued, glancing at the two moons in the sky:

  “First off, the streak wasn't entirely ‘bad’—just without big profits. But enough to live and prepare for the next expedition. Second, everything bad ends eventually. And going on hikes with reliable people means a lot more to me than a quick score.”

  He fell silent, then added softer:

  “And Garret... is a good man. He’ll cover your back, split the haul fair, and knows how to keep quiet when needed. You’ll understand yourself.”

  Kel dragged again; the smoke dissipated in the cold air.

  “Shame about what happened to him. After that incident, Garret changed. Quieter, more detached. Today he got talkative—that's rare.”

  “What trouble?”

  “Ah, he hasn’t told you yet? Then if he wants to, he’ll lay it out himself.”

  They fell silent. The wind died down; only somewhere far off a stone clattered.

  Harlan listened to the night as the air slowly cooled. The anxiety seemed to recede. In this silence, everything felt right.

  Half an hour later, Mark relieved them. Harlan managed to catch a little more sleep before dawn.

  ?

  Hills turned into foothills; the land changed. Snow gave way to dark stone jutting out in jagged layers. They had to weave, choosing snowy patches so the sleds would glide on the crust. Sometimes they crashed straight through bushes.

  The vegetation became lower but looked sinister. On some bushes, the leaves were serrated, fleshy, dark brown; on others, they looked like swollen black drops the color of burnt coal.

  “Watch them closely,” Garret warned. “Some plants here aren’t what they seem. And watch your feet.”

  “What’s wrong with them?” Harlan asked.

  “They can move,” Thorren winked. “And bite.”

  He bared his teeth and loudly clacked his jaws.

  Harlan glanced sideways at the nearest bush with serrated leaves. A branch swayed slightly in the wind, and he reflexively recoiled to the middle of the path, away from the greenery.

  Thorren chuckled quietly into his beard, but Harlan preferred not to check if it was a joke or not, and now walked strictly footprint-to-footprint behind Garret.

  If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  ?

  Days dragged on, merging into one endless ribbon of white and gray. They walked, swapping places at the sleds when the straps began to cut too painfully into their shoulders.

  On the second day, seeing a strange drift twisted like a corkscrew, Harlan couldn’t stand it: “Is the wind piling it up like that? Or is there a burrow under the snow?”

  Kel, walking in front, didn’t even break stride. He just wrapped his scarf tighter, throwing a reply over his shoulder, short as a shot: “Wind.”

  On the third day, Harlan saw a strange lilac glow to the east and opened his mouth to ask, but an icy gust of wind slammed into his face, clogging his lungs with prickly cold. He coughed, doubling over, and the question flew out of his head along with the tears.

  A day later, when they were passing a rock that looked like a cracked skull, Harlan drew in air again to ask... then let it out and said nothing. He looked at Mark. Mark walked rhythmically, like a wound-up mechanism: gaze sliding along the horizon, breathing even, not a single wasted movement or sound.

  By the end of the week, Harlan had stopped asking questions on the move. He listened.

  They talked more only in the evenings, when the tents were pitched and the team sat down for a modest dinner. Dry rations of ground, dried bobel—with a small addition of dried meat and a drop of fat hardened in the frost—were diluted with water from melted snow.

  They always boiled the snow—not just to kill infection, but also not to waste body heat melting it. When the ration was flooded with boiling water, it turned into something like thick porridge. It smelled of smoke and something rancid, but in the cold, any warm brew seemed a delicacy.

  Harlan, trying it for the first time, was even surprised:

  “Hey, not bad, actually tasty!”

  “Let’s see what you say on day twenty,” Thorren laughed.

  “And then on year ten,” Kel joined in, and both guffawed.

  Sure enough, after a week, the uniform rations began to get tiresome. But Harlan remembered the “tender” taste of the stone sandwiches from two weeks ago, and the desire to complain vanished. Although, if there were an opportunity...

  “Harlan, is your backpack packed?” Garret brought him out of daydreams about a big piece of meat with onions and potatoes.

  “Yeah, of course.”

  “Better be. We waited fifteen minutes for you yesterday.”

  Garret wasn’t angry; he just shook his head reproachfully. One of his principles, which he’d been pounding into Harlan for a week now, was to prepare all gear in the evening. First, so they could move out almost immediately with the first rays of dawn. Second, so that at any moment they could retreat in an organized manner in case of a sudden monster attack. He took the squad’s safety seriously.

  Harlan still hadn’t seen a single monster. But Garret tirelessly called them the second threat after the cold and the reason for mandatory night watches.

  ?

  Either way, by the evening of the seventh day, they reached the place Garret wanted to survey in this expedition. He took a map from his pocket and with it a battered paper, as if he needed to present it to someone here. And gave a little speech:

  “Gentlemen, this is a standard license, for five years. I have half a year left. If we don’t find anything in the coming months, there won’t be money for renewal, and the claim will go to someone else. So let’s try our best.”

  Everyone gloomily but agreeably grunted “uh-huh.”

  “Why these claims at all?” Harlan asked.

  “So we don’t shoot each other,” Kel responded. “It gives at least a semblance of law. See a trespasser on your claim—you can shoot without delay. But don’t climb onto someone else’s without asking either—they’ll finish you off just the same.”

  “So, does land in the Wildlands actually belong to someone?”

  “On paper, no,” Kel continued. “But the settlement elder decided otherwise and now sells claim leases, and takes a tax on crystal sales too. Everyone pretends there is order.”

  “And you can’t go against the settlement,” Garret added. “Otherwise there’ll be nothing to eat. Or you’ll catch a bullet.”

  “Just like in the city,” Harlan made a face. “Only more snow.”

  Garret grunted:

  “And closer to the cemetery.”

  ?

  They set up camp near a cliff, in a place more or less protected from the wind.

  In the morning, they fanned out to look for signs of crystals: thin rainbow veins in the stone, glass “tears” on ledges, rare “companions”—minerals that stretch toward the Field like needles to a magnet.

  But they found nothing that day, nor the next.

  Only on the seventh day of searching did Harlan, who was hacking with a pickaxe here and there, return with a stone glinting in his palm.

  “Is this... a crystal?”

  Garret walked over and examined the find.

  “Kid, are you sure you worked in the mines? Of course, that’s a crystal! Small, true. But still—it’s a good sign, maybe this time we’ll actually find a vein.”

  Harlan squeezed the stone in his palm and couldn’t hold back a smile. First find!

  “And how many of these can you usually find?”

  “Depends on your luck. Ten or twenty of these—can be considered a quite successful expedition. Show me where you found it?”

  Harlan showed him, and they all began to work that piece of the claim.

  “Beginner’s luck,” Thorren said with a smirk, “now let’s see for how long.”

  They set to work with picks, crushing rock to a depth of up to half a meter. The lad worked just as hard as the rest, maybe even a little faster. But, unfortunately, for all their efforts, except for a couple of very small crystals, they found no further trace.

  On the morning of the tenth day in camp, Garret gathered everyone after breakfast.

  “Provisions remain only for the return trip. Looks like it’s time—the place is empty here.”

  “Damn it to hell!” Thorren roared and kicked the first boulder he saw into the snow-covered bushes with a swing. It punched a hole through the brush and shook off all the snow. “Your luck ran out too fast, kid.”

  Harlan thought the bush blinked. Or just fatigue.

  Garret looked at Thorren, but continued in the same tired voice:

  “Consider there’s no loot. We’ll have to keep this crystal for preparation for the next expedition,” he sighed, tossing the pebble in his palm. “Barely enough for supplies for the whole group, and I’ll issue ten ents each for ale. I’m sorry, guys.”

  “Let’s move out right now then,” Thorren proposed. “No sense wasting time here.”

  Garret sighed and didn’t answer. Everything was clear without words, even to the newcomer Harlan.

  They silently packed up camp, loaded everything onto the sleds, and moved on the return journey.

  They had moved away from the former campsite maybe fifty paces when a large creature burst from the bushes. Same bushes where Thorren had kicked the rock into. The creature resembled a lizard but with an elongated body, several meters long, and covered in scales and thick fur. Two rows of teeth jutted from its huge open maw, and the eyes were black as pitch. The creature twisted, snarled, and lunged straight at Harlan.

  He recoiled and almost fell; his heart plunged somewhere into his stomach.

  “Hold! Freeze!” Thorren shouted sharply at him.

  In one second Garret, Thorren, and Mark drew their revolvers. A volley thundered. They hit the eyes and muzzle. Violet blood splashed the stones in fountains. But the beast didn't fall. It jerked sideways and whipped Kel with its spike-covered tail. He cried out shortly.

  Mark, who was closest to the monster, fired three more rounds wide, but the fourth went right into the eye, and the beast collapsed, twitching its whole body a couple of times at the end.

  Kel sat on the snow, clutching his knee. Thick, sticky blood oozed from the wound.

  Thorren rushed to the sleds for bandages, and Garret began fumbling in his shoulder bag.

  “Here, antidote,” he said calmly, tossing Kel a flat vial. “I hoped it wouldn’t be needed. Haven’t seen ‘furred crocs’ in these parts for seven years.”

  “Thanks, boss...” Kel hissed. “Looked like I was about to kick the bucket.”

  Until now, none of the veterans had even looked at the monster's corpse bleeding out onto the snow. As if it was supposed to be like that. But Harlan stood to the side with his eyes closed. His hands shook, and he clasped them behind his back so no one would notice.

  He forced himself to take a deep breath. Then another. It became a little easier.

  A minute later he opened his eyes. His hands still shook, but he forced himself to walk up to the monster’s corpse and bent down to examine it more closely.

  Up close, the beast was even more scaly and shaggy. Disgusting. The long tail looked like a sausage. At this thought, fear dulled sharply, replaced by a craving for meat and potatoes.

  “So if we’re in trouble with supplies, maybe we can eat this and continue searching for another day or two?” he pointed a finger.

  “No,” Garret cut off shortly. “Monsters are mostly inedible.”

  “Why?”

  “Some of them even eat stones,” the veteran grimaced. “Think about what they're made of. And this one has poison glands on its tail too.”

  “Actually, there are some you can eat,” Thorren broke into the conversation. “But you have to know which ones and how to butcher them. And we aren’t beast hunters to know for sure. In Snownorth there are a couple of guys who know the stuff. In good months, the two of them provide half the settlement with meat. Earn more than average prospectors.”

  “So this reptile is useless?” Harlan didn’t give up.

  “Could have sold the hide,” Garret said, “but we’ve already made holes in it like a sieve, and they wouldn’t have paid much anyway, just dirty all the gear with blood. I won’t bother.”

  “Well, I would have taken it,” Harlan said, “money is tight for me, barely enough for a couple of nights’ lodging in the settlement. I hoped we’d earn at least something.”

  “Then you can stay at my place,” Garret offered unexpectedly. “But then, no oozing crocodiles, mind you.”

  “Really? I can?” Harlan was surprised. “You’d really help me out.”

  Garret silently nodded, and Harlan felt either blood rushing to his head, or a sharp attack of gratitude.

  On this note, the squad moved on, a bit slower and quieter. Despite the wound, Kel tried to maintain the pace, but after some time he became additional luggage in the second sled. He blinked guiltily, but what to do—he wouldn’t have walked the whole way himself.

  ?

  In the evening, at camp, Harlan sat by the fire next to Garret.

  “So what now? When we return, do we go out again right away?”

  “Don’t rush, first we need to return,” he answered. “We return to Snownorth—rest a day, another day—for purchasing food and supplies. The crystal you found will cover the costs. And then we move out.”

  “Why have you stayed here so many years?” Harlan asked unexpectedly even for himself. “Could have moved to a calmer place long ago. Age, after all.”

  Garret stayed silent. Flames reflected in his eyes.

  “I can’t, this place doesn’t let go,” he finally answered. “My only son died in my own expedition. A scarpeter bit him, a snake like that, and he died in my arms.”

  He sighed:

  “I used to have many plans, but now nothing matters. I can’t leave his grave. And I have nowhere to go, I don’t know how to do anything else.”

  “And your wife?”

  “Wife died long, long ago, in childbirth,” Garret said quietly.

  “I’m very sorry...”

  Harlan didn’t ask any more questions. They silently warmed themselves a little longer, extinguished the fire, and dispersed to the tents.

  Five days later they were in the settlement.

  Armed men in black cloaks with silver patches—a uniform Harlan hadn’t seen even in Carmille—stood at the gates. One of them measured the squad with a cold glance and wrote something in a notebook.

  A chill ran down his back. Harlan mechanically put his hand on his belt, where his knife hung. These people weren't here a month ago.