Heaven's Conspiracy (Child of Man)

Heavens Conspiracy (Child of Man) Chapter six

    Sergeant Nicholas Moval huddled in the shelter he had constructed around the hollowed out end of a long ago fallen, old growth forest giant. He shrank up against the rotting walls of the tree's interior which reached head high on his six foot plus frame. Extending inward, the wooden cave narrowed reaching into the tree's mass some twelve meters where the penetration ended. Decades of time and the harshest of nature's elements having yet to complete it's cycle of returning the monstrous growth to the soil, where it would nourish the seedlings of the next forest giant to take it's place.
    It had picked up again, Moval thought to himself, listening to the mournful whistle echoing from the far end of his shelter. A large limb eaten away almost to the trees trunk had left a fist size hole at the small end of the tree's interior, providing him with his only view of the outside world.
    The blizzard of white had rained unceasingly since he'd entered his hastily constructed shelter, and the lean-to he'd built to cover the large opening of the tree from the wind had now become an impenetrable barrier of ice and snow, effectively entombing him inside the old growth tree.
    His field blanket wrapped tightly around him providing little comfort in the sub-zero temperatures, the Sergeant moved to the wall of impassable white covering the branches of the lean-to. With gritted teeth he began lifting his legs, and tears of pain sprang forth as he began running in place in an attempt to heat himself from the inside out. Each stomp of his near frost bitten feet sent stinging tendrils of torturous pain to his mind, which screamed forth at him to stop the exertion. He tired quickly, and knew this meant his three days of battling the cold, combined with the necessary rationing of food, was greatly reducing his strength and his outlook for survival. Breathing heavily he did manage some minor relief from the exercise as his heart stirred to pump heated blood to his extremities.
    Looking down at his last remaining food ration, not knowing how much longer the winter inferno might rage outside, further recognition of his predicament confronted him, and helplessness tapped on the recesses of his thoughts. With each passing hour his chances of returning to Sector Patrol base diminished.
    He had been out on solitary patrol, something unheard of in this region of the Russian wilds. But he had his Captain's blessing, and was sure if he never returned to SP-111, no one would care a wit. After all, his current reputation was of a man branded, shamed by the actions of his former rank, and demoted to Sergeant, unworthy even to have retained that distinction with the MBG.
    He'd left his assigned base almost three weeks ago, intending to return after two and re-supply for his next trip out. Setting a course to return to base he'd come across large deep impressions of footprints leading into this steep walled valley where he currently found himself. It was only the second time he'd come across these bizarre footprints in his decade long search for the tribe sought by his commander, Vladamir Danko.
    Over ten years he thought, his lip involuntarily curling into a snarl as he stared blankly, picturing the head of the General on a flaming skewer. A mythical tribe spoken of in legend throughout all the ethnicitys that called these undeveloped wilds home. Yet in all his searching, and all the interviews he'd conducted with the indigenous people of the area, claiming to have knowledge of this mysterious tribe's existence, not one could produce any evidence other than their own testimonials.
    Unwilling to let the opportunity excape him, he made the decision to follow the strange prints in the snow.
    Heavy powder had accumulated on the forests evergreens, bowing limbs to the ground, making his progress cumbersome as he followed the recently made tracks. His snowshoes sinking in beside the imprints left by his quarries bare feet astonished the Sergeant, as he imagined what the size of the man must be, the bare imprint fully half the size of his snowshoe.
    His path led him deep into the valley's thick foliage of towering trees. For what seemed several miles he trudged through the sifted snow never losing sight of the tracks until daylight began to fade.
    Coming upon a break in the canopy of the dense forest, he spied the advance of the darker gray clouds which from experience he identified as an Arctic Sweep. This front was a particularly cold and without question deadly weather phenomenon, to anyone who was foolish enough to get caught out in it. The opening had been created when the tree he now called home had relented it's hold into the earth, toppling to clear the view to the menacing sky. The tree saved his life twice that day, once by showing him the approaching squall, and by providing him an immediate foundation for shelter.
    Even before he completed the short process of blocking the opening at the base of the tree the storm moved in, sending biting sleet and snow to slap into his face while the winds increased their intensity, setting the knothole at the far end of the tree to howling.
    And it was still howling, the sound of the wind breaking his reflective thought. He moved toward the smaller end of the tree's tunnel, crouching down to reach the spy hole. He laid down and turned over to look through the opening of the rotted out limb. He was less than inspired at the sight before him, limited as it was. The howling was louder underneath the opening and outside a swirling mass of white obliterated any intelligible view of the world above.
    Fighting not to become dispirited concerning his predicament, he moved back to the larger end of his self imposed confinement where he'd stored his gear and supplies. Opening his field pack he withdrew a small tin jar and a lighter. He removed the screw on lid from the top of the jar, lighting the thick coated wick submersed in the heavy petroleum based sterno gel. Placing the small tin flame on a flat section of the log, he retrieved his last meal ration, opening the sealed foil which secured it's contents.
    Barely considered edible, right now the food may as well have been a juicy rare steak, the Sergeant's stomach not caring as to the palatability of the meal, only it's delivery. He placed the frozen meal cubes into his metal mess plate and held the tin grip rings attached to it's sides just over the small flame. After several minutes the tin plate grew hot and the odors of the heating food wafted to his nostrils causing his stomach to growl menacingly. A gush of saliva hit the back of his throat in anticipation of the simple nourishment as he sat down to consume the repast.
    He tried to chew slowly to little avail when the food was warm, attempting to fool his stomach into believing it was receiving more than it was given, and he found himself refreshed, but far from satisfied.
    Restoring the plate and utensils to his field pack, Nicholaus pulled the wool blanket tighter about him, moving to the middle of his shelter where he had chosen to sleep. He closed his eyes hoping that tomorrow might bring some relief to the snow battered landscape outside. If it did not, he still had plenty of ammunition.
    He stopped himself at that thought, unwilling yet to give in to this most likely of realities. That would be his last option, he told himself. Besides, he had a reason to live.
    The man's face drifted before Moval's mind's eye, and he focused on the image of the one who'd sent him to this icy hell, Vladamir Danko. He growled deep in his throat, thinking about what Danko had done to him, and his own foolishness, as he had actually volunteered for the assignment. How could he have been so stupid, he asked himself.
    He recalled the sequence of events from the testing of the Soviet nation's mightiest power the Hydrogen Bomb, to Minister Bresvan's arrest and murder. This action leading to his own subsequent manslaughter charges, demotion and banishment, finally culminating into this ridiculous mission to search for some non-existent tribe of savages.
    The Sergeant's chill actually diminished somewhat for the next few minutes as his anger flared.
    He'd stood by as Danko personally received a decoration for his part in the Counter Point project at Novaya Zemlya from the Dictator, elevating his status and position before the Duma, to the perplexity of the KGB Director Hendrev Soshnif.
    Things could be seen changing in the political arena of the country, and Stalin had begun to grow more paranoid that his political rivals were out to destroy him. Furthermore, it was rumored that those hardliners who were the silent arm of power for Stalin had begun making demands for reform which the Dictator was vehemently opposed to.
    With the unparalleled rise of the KGB program and the heightening of tension with the West, the Bureau had begun eating heavily into the NKVD's funding, and Danko saw that there would certainly be future contentions with the Bureau and Shoshnif.
    A week after the Counter Point demonstration, Agent Penske had contacted the General regarding Minister Bresvan. He informed Danko that the Minister had failed to report back to work, and that inquiry was being made to the Bureau as to her whereabouts. He warned the General that to avoid any in-depth investigation which might reveal the Minister's location and recent activities, he had better act quickly.
    The General could not have been more pleased with the news from Penske, as it set up perfectly a plan which had only recently presented itself to him in the arrest of the Minister's husband.
    That same day General Danko had ordered Moval to arrest and detain the Minister, hoping that the Doctor had finished her work with the child, and had his team dispose of all the evidence in the building on Chekoneva Street, turning the contents over to Sergeant Fraitz in Evidence Storage.
    Moval quickly blocked out the memory of that evening when they'd burst into the laboratory to arrest the Minister. Of all the horrors he'd witnessed in his lifetime, nothing of any sort could compare witht the hellish abomination of the Minister's clandestine laboratory.
    After her arrest the Minister had been placed in a secure cell at the NKVD detention facility, only a few doors down from where her husband was incarcerated. At that point Moval had carried out the General's plan, breaking into the Bresvan's apartment and leaving counterfeit photos of Arestina with a very handsome young man. A note to her husband confessing to her infidelity, and explaining her desire for divorce was attached to the pictures completing the forged plant.
    When Demetri Bresvan left the apartment after his release from custody and the discovery of the faked documents, Moval had been standing in the buildings stairwell eyeing the man. The expression of murderous intent was etched on the man's face like the chiseled name on a headstone. Moving quickly he had entered the apartment and removed the fake documents, and locked the door behind him as he made his way undetected out the service stairwell.
    Later that afternoon Demetri showed up at the detention facility, after being informed that Arestina had been arrested. Moval was there to complete the end all of the General's plan, permitting Demetri to see his wife without the required accompanying guard escort. As soon as the cell door closed behind him, Demetri removed a small pistol stuck in his trousers and shot his wife in the forehead, then turned the gun on himself ending his own life. Danko's plan had been a work of perfection.
    The Sergeant shifted position relieving the portion of his back in direct contact with the
cold of the tree beneath him, the intensity of the temperature penetrating the depth of his body and causing his spine to ache. He ground his teeth partly from the cold, but mostly from the next thoughts to fill his mind.
    An investigation was ordered directly by the Duma oversight office into the circumstances surrounding the murder-suicide of the Minister and her husband. The KGB had been given the task of the investigation, as many questions had been raised concerning the incident and the NKVD's implicated involvement. Just as he knew it would be, Moval had been found negligent in his actions, and was summarily arrested and imprisoned in his own cell for a month awaiting trial. Through some high ranking political wrangling and a little black mail, Danko had been able to reduce the former Captain's charges to negligent manslaughter. The consequences of which would strip him of his officer rank, and reassign him to a remote outpost on the fringes of the civilized world. It was exactly what the General had wanted.
    Moval felt the flush of warmth in his cheeks as his anger heightened, remembering the day he had been demoted, stripped of his rank before a full review of the NKVD Moscow staff, and summarily shipped out with orders to report to SP-111 at the border of the Eastern Siberian wilderness. He still heard the General's words echo in his ears as he boarded the military vehicle that was to carry him to his new assignment.
    "You are dead to me", Danko said, "until such time as you may redeem yourself to me and remove your disgrace from this command". Saying nothing further, the General had turned his back on Moval placing his right hand over his eyes and tilting his head downward to display the shame and humiliation he felt, at the disgraceful unmilitary action of his former subordinate.
    Moval had truly felt the shame and pain of his banishment, no matter that it had all been arranged by Danko and held no merit in truth. It especially unsettled him when the non-coms following their leaders example, mimicked the General's actions and instructed their subordinates to do likewise.
    The truck carrying Moval to his destination moved slowly through the assembled ranks, and with a heavy heart the former Captain watched his world disappear behind him, knowing that until his mission was complete he would never see this place again.
    And here he was still, turning into a human icicle, possibly as miserable in his life as he had ever been.
    Sleep finally overtook the Sergeant and graciously relieved the poignant cold enveloping his body. When morning arrived his first thought as his eyes unwillingly opened, was that someone was certainly leaning on the steel mill whistle.
    His mind further stirred and he cursed his life and the world at large, the numbness and pain of intense cold beginning to register completely in his waking. He tried to push himself into a standing position, then changed his mind coming to his knees first, after the tendrils of shocking pain shot into his numbed feet.
    It took several minutes of concentrated effort to reach his field pack and remove the cooking tin and mess plate, his fingers disobeying the commands of his mind, responding only with reluctance.
    Removing his wool gloves to see the blackened coloration of frost bite at the tips of his fingers, he cursed unceasingly as he gathered snow from the inside of his shelter and put it in his mess plate. He shivered uncontrollably even as he tried not to, managing to light the sterno tin and hold the mess plate over the flame, ever so slowly bringing the frozen ice to a warm water temperature. Painfully he removed a very small tin cylinder from his field belt, and dumped out one of the six remaining cubes into his mess cup before adding the water. It was no substitute for food but it would keep up his salt levels so that his blood would not freeze as quickly.
    Cradling the luke warm beverage in his hands he rocked back and forth, all the while pausing to sip the drink before it returned to a frozen state. By the time he had completed the broth, he felt some warmth return to his internal organs, but it had done nothing for his extremities.
    His mood changed from bad to worse, and his one consuming thought was for revenge. His mind killed General Vladamir Danko over and over again, each death uniquely different in it's application and content. The hatred actually inspiring his thoughts to more constructive ventures.
    He shrugged off his mind's entertainment then, and set himself to assessing his situation.
    No food, other than the remaining Bouillon cubes. He had shelter for what good it was, seeing now that it was also a prison, that his deteriorated physical condition may prevent him from escaping. The knothole at the far end of his shelter was providing him with sufficient oxygen, and he had all the paraphernalia from his pack and field belt to survive off the land. But it wouldn't help him much he realized, if he couldn't get to it.
    Coming to this defining insight, he recognized the most immediate concern, was escape from his sanctuary. 
    Enduring sheer agony he made it to a standing position, incredible stinging numbness radiating upward from the soles of his feet, protesting along with every ounce of flesh that made him a complete entity. In a half bent stance he attempted a ginger step, pitching headfirst into the snow laden brush covering which made up the lean-to. His left knee buckled under the strain of weight and movement caused by the cold upon an old injury.
    His head struck some of the leaning wood and it moved nowhnere, as the ice and snow had made the structure a rigid impenetrable barrier.
    "I guess that answers the first question", he said to himself, placing a frozen gloved hand to his forehead, feeling the sting in his cranium, and deciding that maybe the knothole at the far end of the shelter was the better place to start.
    Slowly regaining a kneeling position he crawled up to the smaller end of his sanctuary, removing the issue field knife from his belt to use on the unceasing whistle hole that had awakened him earlier. Lying down and turning onto his back he stared up to a brilliant sunlit sky, that stung his eyes after three days in the low light of the tree's interior.
    With incredible pain he gripped the field knife and extended his right arm up to the knothole, and began to chip at the wood. The lack of blood flowing from his arm made him alternate often, and though the exercise was laborious, it did provide him with mental and physical distraction, and began to warm his upper body.
    For more than an hour he continued at the task, even as his eyes told him he was on a fool's errand. He stared at the progress he'd made, the fist size hole now looking like a slightly larger fist size hole. It wasn't difficult to deduce that it could take him weeks to create and opening large enough to fit through.
    Despair and fear grabbed at his mind, one trying to overpower the other as he told himself he must find a way out, and knowing there wasn't one.
    The thought of his field rifle and the nearly full cartridge pouch entered the Sergeant's mind, and this time he could not so easily dismiss it's potential, considering the alternative of slowly freezing to death or starvation.
    Frustration and the injustice of his circumstances assailed him and he shut his eyes tightly, not wanting to face the reality that the General had sent him to his death.
    "You Son of a Bitch"! Moval screamed in pure hatred out the small knothole, the only desire in his life now to have the blood of Vladamir Danko flowing through the fingers of his hands.
    "Rorroah".
      Moval heard the noise and foze, this time without the aide of the cold. Was his mind playing tricks on him he wondered, even as he held his breath listening intently beyond the sound of the whistling knothole above him.
    "Erunff", crunch, crunch, he heard in the snow just beyond his prison.
    "Hello, Hello, is anyone out there", Moval yelled, certain he had heard the noise this time.
    For answer to his call the light was snuffed out above him as a very large black nose intruded into the knothole's opening, effectively filling it's diameter.
    The Sergeant lay motionless, his scent filling the nostrils of the Klondike bear above him, his mind racing at the monstrous threat just outside.
    An idea seized upon him, from where he did not know, but he presumed from the desperation of his situation and having no other recourse but the insane.
    Reaching up with his frozen fingers he pinched the center of the bear's nose, holding as tightly as he could manage and pulled downward, twisting the nostrils with all his strength.
    The answering growl from the Klondike told the Sergeant he had just made someone most unhappy.
    "You're an old, old woman", Moval yelled in answer to the bear's angered growl, and then continued yelling the insults at the massive brute outside tauntingly, receiving the animals's full cooperation as the bear became enraged, pulling at the short stump of limb on the outside. The beast's actions causing the wood to splinter, and opening the knothole in moments wider than he had in an hour.
    This time the bear stuck in it's whole muzzle, his eyes still outside the tree, and the Sergeant repeated his actions, albeit more cautiously now that the bear's teeth were involved. Moval mercilessly pulled on the brute's nose, sending the bear into a rampage when he withdrew from the hole, ripping at the ancient tree until he could stick his massive head in the expanded opening.
    Now with the utmost caution Moval lay flat, the bear's menacing teeth gnashing as spittle dripped off it's maw and down onto the Sergeant, mere centimeters from his face. He screamed curses at the deadly animal attempting to rip into his flesh, and only the bulging shoulders of the beast stopped him from accomplishing the task.
    As the bear strived to reach his prey, Moval managed to slap the raging monstrosity on the side of his face with the butt end of his field knife, further infuriating the maddened animal, who withdrew once more to rip at the ancient tree trunk.
    When the bear had withdrawn completely from the hole Moval moved, the pain of cold and frostbite literally forgotten under the tense circumstances. He crawled quickly to the opposite end of the tree, grabbing his field rifle and checking the action to see it was functional.
    "Brilliant time to check", he said to himself with a strained laugh, recognizing that the weapons trigger mechanism could have been frozen, and that what he was about to attempt was certifiable lunacy.
    The weapon was functional, and he chambered the first round just as the large brightness at the smaller end of his sanctuary went pitch black, and the bear's large bulk filled the narrow end of the tree.
    The Sergeant was shaking like a leaf in a windstorm, partly from the stress and cold of his incarceration but mostly from the growling infuriated bear approaching him. He had to glance at the trigger of his carbine to make sure that his finger was actually in the right position, as he could not feel the small curved piece of metal.
    Aiming as well as his condition would allow he jerked the first shot off, sending it wide of the bear's head and skipping off the brute's shoulder. Immediately the beast became a mass of charging furry destruction, barreling toward the frozen soldier.
    Moval's frozen fingers barely managed to control the carbine's action, loading another round and firing just as the maniacal bear bowled into him with the impact of a small freight train. Fur, flesh, snow and ice became indistinguishable under the weight of the assault and sent the Sergeant into a world of darkness.
    His lashes fluttered open sending a rush of intense pain into his eyeballs from the glare surrounding him, and he felt quite dizzy. He was having trouble breathing, but that was because of the large object laying on top of him, and a furry object at that. He wanted to make his body move, but it wouldn't obey his command.
    How had he come to this condition, he pondered?
    Where was he?
    For that matter, who was he?
    To much pain his mind told him, and he shut his eyes giving into unconsciousness.
    When next his eyes opened the pain was the first thing present, the worst of it being in his left arm, which was pinned to his chest by some massive weight. He tried to move the limb, but found it was unresponsive to his brain's command.
    Next he tried to move his other arm finding the digit actually warm and free with movement. Raising the appendage clear of the hair covering over it, he began to feel about, his mind striving to comprehend his predicament. His head pounded as his free hand told the story of the large creature splayed out on top of him. Putting the pieces together he recalled the last moments of awareness and the awesome charging Klondike.
    Immediate panic caused him to react to the memory, and the sudden exertion racked his body with pain, almost sending him back to oblivion, and he lay still, letting the agony play out and subside.
    When the torrent of discomfort passed, the Sergeant used his free arm to assess the condition of his other arm, finding it pinned to his chest, warm but completely devoid of feeling from the weight that pressed it into his chest. Attempting to wriggle the appendage free, the exertion made him become disoriented and dizzy, his head pounding with the movement. Ten thousand needles plunged into the useless arm when he managed to move it free of the pinned position. Blood denied to the body part surged along it's length, causing the wounded man to lapse into blackness momentarily, only to regain consciousness moments later and have to endure the excruciating pain in his appendage.
    For several minutes after the pain had abated the Sergeant lay still, taking further stock of his condition without movement, giving his well being a mental going over. His back was burning slightly in the center along his spine, and he had no feeling in his legs from the knees down. This was merely an inconvenience compared to the hangover hell that pounded in his head.
    After his mental evaluation he realized his first need was to get out from under the heavy weight straddling him. Using both arms now that the pinned digit had some modicum of strength to it, he tried to push against the massive bulk, causing his head to spin and gave him the uncontrollable urge to vomit.
    Even in his dilapidated state he recognized the signs of a concussion and fought the urge to close his eyes, knowing that if he did it might well be for the last time. Once the sensation passed he carefully and slowly twisted his body, sliding out from under the bear's heavy bulk. Twice he almost blacked out from the physical strain of the action, but finally managed to bring himself to a sitting position alongside the shaggy behemoth he'd killed.
    "I guess I won", he muttered to himself, looking at the still beast, leaning forward to feel of his legs. He couldn't detect any feeling on his legs below the knee, and his feet were in the same condition.
    Assessing the remainder of his body, the Sergeant found three broken ribs and a gash along the center of his forehead from his hairline to the center of his right eyebrow. This appeared to be the most serious injury, along with several lacerations and a few puncture wounds in his back.
    His triage completed the Sergeant had no greater desire than to close his eyes and rest, knowing that was the last thing he should do. Letting loose a light sigh, he scanned the interior of the tree, squinting as he did from the unaccustomed light that now filled his shelter. He could tell that the sun was quickly fading and that darkness would soon arrive.
    Spying a small piece of his field knife that wasn't buried in the earlier collision, he retrieved the blade and set to work on the bear's carcass, wringing the beast legs and forepaws, skinning the animal out to remove the thick shaggy coat. Bloodied and wet, the beast's hide was a welcome accompaniment to his wool blanket, and it gave a perceptible degree of added warmth to his frozen body.
    Next the Sergeant experienced incredible pain as he removed his boots and leggings, the numbness of his previous triage not so prevalent now that he had begun to move around, giving him some optimism that his lower appendages had not become frostbitten. Slitting the bear's midsection, Moval plunged his frozen feet deep into the animal's still warm bowels. It was as if he had waded into a flowing stream of lava, and it took all of his mental faculties to simply keep from passing out. The incredible shock and pain to the frozen members causing his head to spin, throbbing and pounding to a cacophonic roar.
    Tears welled in his eyes and he let the water flow down his face, sobbing from the intensely painful experience, the salt of his tears stinging a small laceration on the side of his nose he hadn't noticed. It seemed an eternity but finally the burning sensation eased in his feet and toes, and the warmth that now surrounded his body began to make him groggy. Had it not been for the incessant growl of his stomach he may well have fallen asleep then, succumbing to the welcome warmth.
    But with still warm meat this close, even unappetizing as it was, it was food. Slicing a large chunk of the animal's hind quarter off, Moval immersed himself in a primordial gorging of raw bloody flesh, stopping only when his extended stomach told him, no more.
    He didn't even try to fight the sleep which wrapped around him as tightly as the bear skin that clung to his body, warm and full it was most welcome.
    Moval's next waking thought was of the brightness pricking his eyes even through his closed lids. He wanted to turn out the light and drift back into darkness, but nature was calling to his inward parts and refused to leave him alone. His eyes opened and the stinging radiance of a noon day sun flooded through the expanded opening created by the bear. He attempted to roll over and refuse the new day, immediately sensing the liquid residue clinging to his feet. He slowly lifted himself up to a sitting position, squinting at his legs where they disappeared into the large carcass of the bear. He attempted to wiggle his feet inside the animal and was rewarded with the sensation of renewed feeling all the way to his toes.
    An evil smile crept to his lips and he realized that his odds for survival had greatly increased.
    Momentarily he pondered simple recuperation for a day, then dismissed the thought without reservation, wanting nothing more than to be free of this place and fulfill his need for retribution against the man who had sent him here. The bright sunlight meant that the storm had passed, and he knew not when the next brush of Polar air would sweep in, so now was the time.
    With measured pace he removed his feet from the bear's intestines and replaced them in his leggings and boots. He then searched about his disrupted sanctuary collecting his gear and rifle, continually feeling the pounding of many drums inside his brain. Each bend and stretch seemed to make him dizzier, and many times he had to simply stop his movements and hold on to the wooden walls to keep from toppling over. Completing the recovery of his equipment he took his field knife and cut a large slab of flesh from the bear's stiff carcass, placing it in a piece of newspaper he'd used to line the inside of his field pack. Wrapping the haunch of bloody meat he replaced it in the pack for later.
    Crawling to the hole at the narrow end of the tree, the Sergeant had to turn away, as the intensity of the glaring sunlight was just to much for the condition of his splitting head.
    He opened the goggle pouch on his field belt and removed the shields, placing them over his eyes to the pain and discomfort of his swollen forehead. The tint could have been stronger he thought to himself, turning back now to look through the goggle's, finding they helped at least a little to diffuse the unrelenting glare.
    Standing up through the opening, Moval was stunned at the depth of new fallen snow, his guess being that at least two meters of new powder had collected on top of that which was on the ground when he arrived. Placing his rifle next to the hole, he lifted out his pack and field belt, then removed his bearskin and tossed it out.
    Grabbing the sides of the opening, Moval hoisted himself up and rolled out of the tree, sinking into the soft white powder. He strapped on his snowshoes after untying them from his field pack, then retrieved his rifle and pack before wrapping himself again in the bearskin.
    He had managed only a few steps when he stopped himself, considering where he was going.
    He'd set his feet in the direction of SP-111, but why? To recover and then continue in this never ending search for a myth?
    For several minutes he deliberated his direction, coming to the unpleasant conclusion that only one would grant him that which he most desired, the head of Vladamir Danko on a pike.
    He turned, his feet beginning a slow shuffle through the deep drifts, moving further into the long valley.
    For all he knew this was the path that would lead only to his own demise, and if it was to be then maybe it was for the best, he thought. At least it would spare him from his continued exile.
    With weary measured step he continued onward through the snow blanketed landscape, battered and miserable.

*                            *                                *                            *                        *

    Ektalanuklan hoisted the elk over his head letting the burden come to rest on his broad shoulders. It had been an easy kill, the stag he'd pursued was in the twilight of his years and probably would not have survived another winter.
    An Arctic owl sat in a tree a short distance from him eyeing the native's prize, ready to scavenge any portion of the kill that might be left behind.
    Spying the bird, Ektalanuklan took his crude slate knife and cut a small portion of the animal's hide away exposing the flesh, then cut a small portion of meat from the kill. He lifted the piece of flesh high into the air and a cooing sound reminiscent of a pigeons croon escaped the hunter's lips, followed by the word Atalool.
    The owl's head bobbed side to side and it's large eyes blinked, staring squarely at the savage.
    Ektalanuklan repeated the noise and the bird lofted from it's perch, gliding toward the outstretched morsel. With pinpoint precision the silent glide carried the owl over the top of the hunter's extended hand where he snatched the offered morsel, banking hard to return to his perch and begin eating the warm flesh.
    The large hunter repeated the call once more and this time was rewarded when the owl answered back with the same sound the hunter made. He smiled to himself re-shouldering his burden and began his trek back home.
    He had only gone about a mile when he detected the almost imperceptible crunch of small paded feet in the snow behind him. His hunter's ear identified the lynx's tread and he stopped, placing his kill on the ground, then broke off one of the elk's forelegs, twisting the sinew which held the joint together at the knee until it broke free of the carcass.
    He stood completely still then, picking up the direction in which the lynx was approaching by the creatures steps in the snow, finally seeing his camouflaged hide, equally as brilliant white as the snow surrounding him.
    The cat froze in it's tracks when it spotted the savage, then lay in the snow with it's ears back assessing the hunter.
    A low whining growl now echoed out of the hunter's vocal chords and the lynx's ears perked straight up only moments before he did, his eyes fixated on the strange creature before him, now more inquisitive than suspicious. The cat skulked forward a few paces, the smell of blood enticing him to approach.
    Ektalanuklan stretched the leg of the elk out before him and growled again, this time almost a submissiveness in it's inflection.
    The cat continued it's wary approach until it was about ten paces away from the hunter where it stopped, emitting a low whine and sinking into the snow.
    The hunter tossed the leg to the cat then, knowing he would not venture any closer, both of them understanding that under the right circumstances, either one of them might be dinner for the other.
    The lynx grabbed the leg and without a glance backward retreated into a thicket of evergreens.
    Placing the elk carcass back over his shoulder the hunter moved on. For several miles he tromped through the deep drifts, laboring over two small ranges of stunted mountains to finally access the passage that led to the barren plateau where he would find the entrance to the caves of the Sacred Pools Tribe.
    Standing on the last rise of earth before the commencement of the barren boulder strewn plateau, Ektalanuklan carefully surveyed the landscape surrounding the plateau as all hunter's were taught to do.
    It had not always been this way he remembered, only recently within his lifetime had the hunters patterns been changed by the order of the council. Barestemit, one of the older hunters, had been returning with a kill to the plateau when a large silver bird which roared in it's flight, had swooped down on the hunter, so that Barestemit fled back into the wilderness.
    When the bird had left, Barestemit returned to tell the council of his experience and the horrifying tale of the silver bird which flew without a beat of it's wings, and the heads of men that shot up out of it's back.
    Gidus, the tribal elder and council leader, had decreed that all hunters from that time forward were to be wary of this animal, and never approach the chasm of entry upon the plateau if they were attacked by the bird. True to the decree, Ektalanuklan searched the immensity of blue above him for any sign of the creature, before heading out onto the boulder strewn plateau.

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    Nicholaus Moval had become a frozen automaton of infinite pain. His head pounded with each heavy trudging step, yet his legs continued to carry him through the frozen wilds of the Siberian forest. He pushed through the low hanging limbs of evergreen trees, snow falling upon him with every bump into the thick vegetation. Walking upward again he wondered if the valley through which he trudged actually had a conclusion. Catching his snow shoe on a jutting piece of fallen limb, the Sergeant tripped headlong into a thick patch of snow laden limbs, causing a crescendo of collapsing snow, burying him where he fell.
    Stoically he pushed himself up out of the covering powder and crawled through the thicket, emerging on the other side to gaze out at an open expanse of white, dotted with mammoth hulks of individual Granite boulders. Scanning the landscape, he blinked his eyes, and brushed off some snow that clung to the top of his goggles. Momentarily he had seen movement among the large stones and believed that his mind was playing tricks on him. For just a second he thought he had seen a bear carrying a deer slung across it's shoulders, walk between two of the stalwart rocks.
    Dropping his gaze a moment he looked back up and focused on the area where he believed he had observed the motion. For a few seconds the plateau remained still, and he began thinking that his head wound and physical dilapidation were beginning to cause hallucinations. Just when he'd convinced himself of the notion, another momentary glimpse of movement caught his eye.
    It was no more than a second of observation, but it was enough for the Sergeant to recognize that the being was walking on two legs not four.
    Without hesitation or consideration for his actions, he set out in pursuit as swiftly as his weakened condition would allow, trying to close the three hundred meter distance between himself and the last position of the person he'd seen. He covered a little over half the distance when his legs cramped from the exertion he'd put on them, sending him down again into the depth of snowy white. Unwilling to give in to the pain, he pushed himself back up and stiff-leg shuffled through the snow capped boulders, hoping to get another glimpse of the person he pursued.
    Working his way around one particularly large rock, Moval stopped dead in his tracks, watching the scene before him.
    Directly ahead of him, no more than fifty meters away, a very big polar bear had just rounded the backside of a large stone, his head lifted to the air sniffing intently the odor of fresh blood emitted by the newly killed elk, and the large creature that carried the deer.
    "The gods save me from these damn bears", Moval said to himself in his own mind, not daring to whisper or move and alert the mammoth creature to his presence. He wasn't sure what to do, but his mind was telling him to find a place to hide and let these two work it out amongst themselves.
    The huge white bear began a run toward the as yet unaware hunter, and without question valor replaced good sense at that moment, as Moval called out to the big man carrying the elk, hobbling forward as fast as he could manage, chambering a cartridge into his field rifle.
    Ektalanuklan spun around at the sound of the Sergeant's call, dropping his burden and grabbing the slate knife at his side, prepared to meet the onslaught as the Arctic predator now charged at him full speed. He had not recognized the voice or words of the warning, nor did he have time to consider which of his tribal brothers had alerted him. He was only able to catch a brief glimpse of him before the polar bear was upon him, feeling somewhat reassured that another member of the tribe was close at hand to help him in the fight to come.
    Moval saw the large man turn and stand firm with the ridiculous knife, poised to do battle with the carnivorous predator of the poles. He raised his rifle finding his hands unwilling to steady the weapon, and even if he had, his shaking was as likely to cause him to kill the man as the bear. Gripping the rifle firmly in both hands he waddle raced forward, pausing momentarily as the two combatants came together.
    With the most savage of primordial growls, a pure onslaught of battling giants ensued, and Moval asked himself even as he advanced, what in the hell was he doing? He hesitated but a moment however, when he saw the bear gain the upper hand throwing the man to the ground, tenaciously trying to reach the man's throat. He screamed and yelled as he advanced attempting to distract the great white beast's brutal attack, doing little more than straining his vocal chords and causing his head to pound ever harder.
    The Sergeant threw off his bear sking covering when he reached the fray, hearing the polar bear roar loudly as the man connected with his crude knife, stabbing the animal in his shoulder. The wounded bear went into a berserkers rage of blind fury and destruction, clawing and biting the big man.
    Bleeding from a dozen wounds the man fought desperately to keep the enraged bear at bay with his bare hands, the knife he'd held wrenched free of his grasp in the struggle, buried deep in the polar bear's bleeding shoulder.
    Moval raised his rifle and fired point blank into the white beast's back near the base of the skull, wounding the animal severely but missing the bear's spine in the jostling fight. He stepped backward and attempted to chamber another round into his weapon, but the bear had already turned upon him, catching the Sergeant with one mighty forepaw on the side of his head, snapping him around like brittle wood, to land face first in the blood stained snow.
    Before his throbbing head could deduce what had befallen him, a large weight pounced on his back, and sharp pointed canines pierced his left shoulder, followed by more weight, which effectively buried him a half meter in the snow covered earth, causing him to black out.
    Ektalanuklan had no idea what the loud report was, only that it had distracted the bear from him, giving him an opportunity to regain his feet. In his fit of battle rage he gave it little consideration, and took full advantage of the distraction, leaping onto the bear's back and encircling the creature's neck with one massive arm, grabbing at his knife still embedded in the animal's shoulder.
    The polar bear immediately forgot the man pinned beneath him and twisted furiously to dislodge the hunter clinging to his back. The two rolled on the ground thrashing about as the gunshot and stab wounds began to take effect, reducing the bear's tenacity for the struggle. In the wrestle of death they bumped into Moval, causing him to stir and regain his faculties.
    Upon regaining awareness, the Sergeant showed no hesitation. The man clung to the bear's neck, holding desperately onto the still thrashing animal that was atop him driving him into the snow. For a split second the great white beast paused and it was the moment Moval needed. He pushed the barrel of his weapon to the side of the animal's head and squeezed the trigger. For a few seconds the beast twisted in it's death throes then went still.
    The large hairy man beneath the animal released his grip on the dead bear, sliding out from under the heavy weight of the beast. Standing up he towered over Moval a good half-meter. The two stared at each other, and the Sergeant's eyes widened in disbelief as he stepped backward bringing his weapon to bare, and pointing it at the beast he'd just saved. It was probably well that he hadn't chambered another round into the carbine, or he quite possibly would have shot the creature out of frightened ignorance.
    The beast was huge in comparison to Moval, who was no small man, and with the exception of the high brow ridge, and intelligent gaze of human eyes, he was every bit as much an animal as the polar bear he'd just killed.
    To his already overwrought mind and body, it was even more disconcerting when the beast spoke to him. Moval had no idea what the brute said, but it did appear that he was trying to convey his appreciation for Moval's assistance.
    The Sergeant began to lower the muzzle of his rifle when the sound of rushing footsteps in the snow caused him to spin around, empty rifle before him.
    He didn't even have time to blink before the large wooden club connected squarely in the center of his forehead directly atop his previous wound. All his pain had disappeared, as the world around him, and Nicholaus Moval entered a realm of darkness and death.

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    Moval drifted in the black, feeling no sensation other than a drifting uninhibited peace. He had no desires, no wants or dreams, unconcerned about anything, just content with being alleviated from all the pain that had surrounded him in life.
    He reveled in his release of the physical, accepting his death and wondering if this would be his eternity. The thought suddenly scared him, though he could not focus on where the fear came from. He tried to push the unwelcome emotion from him, just wanting to retreat back into the dark bliss of his non-existence.
    Without warning he felt another presence enter his world of peace. Turning in the darkness not seeing anything in the black surrounding him, he became more frightened, knowing the presence was close to him, studying him, deciphering the content of his being. Whether for good or ill he could not say, but the experience was the most terrifying thing he'd ever known.
    He felt his skin crawl as the hair stood up all over his non-existent body, the darkness about him becoming sinister and foreboding, promising of interminable punishment and pain.
    He yelled into the black, challenging the unseen to appear and meet him face to face. His skin tingled, and almost tickled he thought to himself, the sensation becoming more prominent as he searched the depths of darkness around him, trying to spot the unwelcome intruder.
    Suddenly the presence was behind him and his whole body shook with fright, but he couldn't turn around to look at the invader of his sanctuary. The intruder's breath coursed across the base of his neck and the putrid odor of it's mouth assailed Moval causing his stomach to churn, the smell of a billion deaths clinging to the lips of the unseen entity.
    His heart pounded in his chest until he could stand the fear no more and he overcame his paralysis, spinning about in the dark void to come face to face, with himself.
    It shouldn't have frightened him as it did, but Moval was certain had he possessed physical form he would have wet his pants. So exquisitely terrifying was his own apathetic expression, it caused him to jump and blink his eyes, revealing the dance of burning flames around him.
    He lay frozen in place by his own design, staring up at a stalactitie-laced ceiling. Dancing figures of darkness enshrouded in firelight, and the resonating reflection of a million twinkling diamond lights cascaded across it's surface in fluid grace.
    He floated in a pool of water, warm and inviting. Tiny bubbles of air played across his flesh in cadence to the unearthly phantasms that danced on the ceiling above. Only his face jutted above the water, and his nose detected the smell of freshly turned earth and wildflowers.
    Scanning the periphery of his sight not moving his head, the dimensions of the room were not that large, approximately twenty meters in circumference. It's rippled walls taking on the shape of large vines, that intermittently appeared as writhing serpents in the reflective flames of yellow fire. The fire flickered from tall spiral torches, the flame of each extending up and out of the open mouth of miniature dragons that had been carved at the tops. The flames burned clear and he could see that no smoke issued from their combustion.
    A movement caught his eye then, and he raised his head from the water to look at the most beautiful woman he had ever imagined in the depths of his fantasies. She smiled at him, standing up from where she knelt between two small kilns that produced a green smoke, disappearing centimeters away from a barely perceptible burning flame.
    The woman walked over to him and her femininity was as abundant as her goddess like face. Her waist length hair was a mixture of yellow sand and snow, that only intensified the white of her flesh. Green-yellow almond shaped eyes looked at him with loving concern as she approached, showing her brilliant smile that sat beneath a perfect nose.
    When she reached him, her lush lips parted speaking softly as she slid her right hand under his head supporting him. She continued speaking and although he understood none of her words, he knew she was there for him, to care for his needs.
    Cupping her left hand, she filled it with the water from the pool and poured it over Moval's forehead all the while talking softly in a lyrical angelic voice.
    Moval felt the water dripping over his head wound, and for the first time realized that all the pain he'd known for the past days was gone.
    He started to speak to the woman, but she placed one of her perfect fingers to his lips for silence. She then gently lay his head back into the waters of the pool in which he floated, walking to the room's only visible door to Moval's left. She exited the room returning momentarily with an earthen pitcher, and a finely crafted crystalline goblet that appeared to have been forged from one large pure diamond.
    Moval raised his head again, this time trying to rise up to a sitting position, but was stopped due to the restraints holding him still. He hadn't even been aware of them and guessed that they had been employed to keep him still, that he did not roll over and drown. He started to ask her to untie him, when his eyebrows shot upwards and he remained still, stunned by the sight of the two monstrous beasts that entered the room.
    They were fully three and a half meters tall, their large heads barely missing some of the larger stalactites hanging off the ceiling. The beasts were reminiscent of the savage that he had helped, but they had none of the manlike features of the previous creature save for their human eyes.
    As he studied the beasts they moved to the kilns where the woman had been earlier, taking the lids off the small kilns, and each in turn pouring the smoking contents into the pitcher the woman held. Replacing the kilns to their respective location the two stood directly behind them with the woman in the center.
    The woman raised the smoking pitcher and goblet, going into a repetitive chant as the two beasts stood absolutely still beside her, their huge shaggy arms crossed over their chests. The woman's chant ended and she walked over to Moval, dipping the goblet into the pool beside him, then pouring the water from the goblet into the pitcher, extinguishing the green smoke that emanated from it's top. She poured the pitcher's contents into the goblet and held it forth to Moval with both hands.
    He hesitantly sipped at the offered brew, finding the drink bitter when it touched his taste buds, but it became sweeter as he drank, the woman tilting the goblet on end to have him drink all of the concoction.
    Nicholaus Moval felt as if he had suddenly been re-born, feeling strength such as he'd never known course through his flesh. Every sensation of pleasantness rushed to the billions of cells which comprised his physical being. A smile came to his face which he could not suppress, the perfection of total health engulfing his body, making him feel like a child again.
    The woman returned his smile, seeing Moval's delight in the recuperative liquid. She walked back over to the place between the two beasts and then poured the contents of the pitcher back into the kilns.
    Moval watched the scene continuing to unfold before him, his large smile not fading, just hanging gleefully to his mouth. That smile died at the bloodcurdling scream which burst from the throat of the beautiful young woman, standing with outstretched arms to the ceiling, staring up at the aged stalactites. He watched in helpless horror as the beautiful delicate flower before him was grabbed by the two monstrous brutes and ripped asunder. Her blood spewed out from her body when one of the monsters snapped her forearm off at the elbow. She continued to scream as Moval fought valiantly against his restraints in an effort to save her. He finally gave up when one of the savage beasts completed the grisly death, decapitating the beautiful woman with a twisting wrench of her head.
    Tears were in his eyes and he hurled insults at the cowardly monsters, attesting to the totality of his vengeance upon them if he ever got free. The beasts paid him no attention, just continued to shred the larger pieces of the woman's corpse until the body was no longer identifiable as a human being.
    Completed with their gruesome murder, the blood soaked beasts began gathering all the small pieces of flesh strewn about the killing scene, holding the pieces in their arms until all the body parts were collected. Then walking to the edge of the pool where Nicholaus lay confined, they tossed the pieces into the bubbling waters.
      Their task completed the two beasts simply left the room, leaving Moval to lie amongst the pieces of shredded flesh in the bloodied pool. The insanity and strain of the occurrence left the man in mental shock, and his mind began to retreat back into itself, looking for the darkness he had known earlier. Nausea and helplessness assaulted Nicholaus, and though he couldn't dispel the vigor of his body, his mind begged the question, was he in hell?
    A few minutes passed as he marinated in the putrid water surrounding him. Soon the intensity of the bubbles rising from beneath him began to increase. The water started to become turbulent and then died to dead calm, it's only ripple caused by the beautiful young woman breaking the still surface to look lovingly down into the Sergeant's eyes.
    "How do you feel", she asked in sincere concern.
    Nicholaus mouth dropped open, and the only thing he could stammer out was, "Fffine".
    His expression reminded her of a small child, who having been asked a complex question, sat there dumbfounded, having not a clue to the answer, not even capable of comprehending what had been asked.
    Her beautiful smile was so disarming however, that the Sergeant lost his trepidation and he felt his emotions become at ease, as the beautiful lady loosed his restraints.
    Both of them were completely naked when they emerged from the pool and the woman told Moval to wait as she exited the chamber, returning momentarily with two thick full length gray robes.
    She assisted Moval into the garment before clothing herself, then took him by the hand and said, "my name is Florevar".
    "I'm Nicholaus", he managed, as a million questions assaulted his mind.
    "Don't worry", she said, seeing the confused and overwhelmed expression on Nicholaus face. "It will take time to understand all that has befallen you, but now you have much more of it", she concluded smiling up at him with a devilish look on her angelic face.
    Moval simply nodded, letting her lead him from the room, out into a flame lit tunnel cut from solid granite rock.
    "It's time you meet your new family", she said, and he offered no resistance as she led him down the subterranean tunnel's length.