In the bear calendar, every year is the year of the bear.
A cold, bitter wind accompanied the unending stream of snowflakes falling upon the ground. The thick clouds from which they descended blocked out the sky entirely. Below, drifts of snow capable of swallowing a man grew ever deeper.
Any journey over the frozen mountains was a hard one at the best of times and this season was turning out to be the hardest some had ever known. Not because of the degree in which the elements raged but rather something more sinister at hand. Those that found themselves lost, or forced to drift beneath nature's embrace had done so out of desperate necessity.
The heavy laden steps of a man pushed, more than stepped, through the fall. Carmel: bundled in furs, white with crusted snow, shrouded for all the good it did him. He shook as he searched for somewhere to shelter.
The weather had been relentless over the two days he’d walked the mountain pass. This was not the season for travel, even if he was familiar with the paths to the fertile lands south. He had no choice: His homelands, remote as they were, were now inhospitable to him.
Plague had crawled its way up into the high places, which were usually sheltered by such things. His way of life, the ways he’d known as he’d grown to manhood, had been choked out as if by some creeping weed. What embers remained were being snuffed out, or forced to flee in spite of themselves.
Begrudgingly, Carmel was busy spiting himself and being lost out in the desolate cold was only the half of it. He stopped to survey his surroundings. Snow, ice, the odd cropping of rock. That, and the faint sound of agency on the air.
Pulling back his hood he held his breath and listened. It was voices, no doubt, but which direction he couldn't say. He pressed on, pumping his strong thighs, lifting and stepping, sinking then dragging.
There came a crack, the lurching feeling of brief descent. All around him the shelf of snow Carmel rode broke. He froze as an apprehensive moment passed, then the entire shelf collapsed, taking Carmel along. Noise roared in his ears. The world compressed and became black.
Unrestrained in the chaos he tumbled and let out a roar only to be choked with snow. Ringing burst in his ear as pain shot through his head. Down he slid on stone and ice. Then, as suddenly as it began, it ended.
Dizzy, in pain, and too tired to move, he lay covered in snow. Fatigue and injury gripped him as he walked the tightrope of consciousness.
Time passed. Sounds began to echo around, bouncing off the physical as well as the temporal.
Darkness was replaced by light. Blurry figures, monsters, or savage beasts swirled above him. Wolves and bears. Jesters with streaks of rich color. Shamans, witches, or possibly something more grim.
Dark faces with hard questioning eyes. With paws and tendrils they freed him, and with paws and tendrils they hauled him along.
As he shifted, becoming weightless, the world spun wildly, grew ever brighter, and with a suddenness- winked out.
“What do you think, is he peste?”
“He looks brut. Brut enough, anyway.”
“Check him. The maladie takes many forms. Peste can progress with subtlety.”
Carmel stirred at the sound of conversation but was yet to come completely to his senses. Around him blue and white icy walls stretched through dark caverns, illuminated by the warmth of fire light. Above him three figures stood. Behind them, a half-dozen more lounging throughout the sheltered space, warming themselves and eating.
All paid a mild, quiet interest in what was going on with the foreign agent. Carmel sensed the motion of one edging to his side. His hands began to move about his person as he roused to consciousness.
Wild eyes flew open. Instinctively he grabbed at the intrusion, tangling the man in a wrestle. Grunts, shouts, a flurry of motion; in a moments notice all three were on top of him. Strong as he was, the lone, prone fighter was no match. Forced to his stomach, his hands and legs pinned beneath theirs, he was left with nothing to fight with but his tongue.
“Hey! Get off me you clouts!”
“Check him!” The bigger of the three boomed through a burly beard. It was the same voice that had issued the command before.
Hands began to rummage and with more aggression this time. They tore at a near empty coin pouch; turned out pockets filled mostly with damp lint; and ripped at a necklace, made of coarse string, that held a single gold colored coin. Off to one side a small pile began to form.
If these were looters or seekers of fortune they’d be sorely disappointed.
“Hey, hey!” Carmel barked, watching helplessly as a savage looking woman detached herself from the nearby wall and knelt down beside his belongings.
She regarded him from beneath a hood. Her face, Carmel noted, had been darkened with a mask of charcoal, with streaks of blue paint beneath the eyes. She spared him no emotion and turned to pick over his spoils.
“Well, what do you find?” The bearded man questioned as the three continued their struggle on top of Carmel. The fight was futile and Carmel had all but resigned himself to saving his strength for later.
The woman unwrapped a bundle of cloth and tossed the contents closer for his inspection.
“Dried meat. Not much but it’s something.”
He grunted.
The woman looked closely at the gold disc. On either side was the matching portrait of a woman. “Interesting,” she intoned.
“Hey! Don’t be getting any ideas.” Carmel roared, his face half-mashed into the hard icy floor.
The woman regarded Carmel once more then let the trinket slip through her fingers.
“More brut than peste. If the maladie had settled the meat would be first to go.” She rose to her feet.
“Are you brut?” The burly man asked, addressing Carmel for the first time.
“What?” Though the words made sense to him, Carmel couldn't fathom their meaning. The confusion was clear on his face.
“Where are you from, wilderman?” The bearded man seemed to speak more slowly, as though comprehension might be an issue. The question, though, was a fair one.
“The High Northern Wilds, the Roving Hamlets. A place where we know a thing or two about hospitality, you big fat jerk.” Pinned though he was, Carmel wouldn't give any quarter.
The big man relented and, not sparing any of his weight, pushed his way to his feet . “Let him free,” he ordered. The other two released him and Carmel thrashed his way to freedom.
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