Rowan, the blacksmith, handed Michael an ugly hunk of metal. He held it easily, despite its weight, and gave it a few test swings. It was easily thrice the thickness of his old sword, but somehow the smith had still managed to give it a decent edge. He’d used the remains of the old sword as a base, so the hilt still felt comfortable in his hand. His swings may be slower for a while, but he was hopeful that it would stand up better to the damage caused by smite and the raw strength he now swung with as well. There was probably a better way to figure out his smiting problem, but for now this was the best he could think of.
“This is exactly what I needed, thank you.”
Rowan shrugged. “No smith grows up hoping to make pitchforks and plows. It was nice to work on swords, spears, and armor for a change.”
Michael smiled and went to sheathe his sword before realizing it wouldn't fit. He worked it through an iron ring on his belt, making sure that he would be able to quickly draw it if he needed to and nodded when he was satisfied. He walked out of the warmth of the smithy and into the village square where a number of people had gathered.
There had already been a large exchange of goods which Marcus had also participated in, and he seemed to have been able to get each of them a heavy wool cloak that they could wrap around their armor as well as some salted fish and a few other necessities, most of which would be waiting with Francesca.
Pyotr finished making a surprisingly elaborate snow sculpture and walked over to Michael.
“You ready, brother?”
Michael patted the sword at his hip. “Much more ready than I was before.”
The other’s swords were in good shape, but the smith had managed to put some crude spears together for them. He was still working, his hammer clanging away, as he made replacement weapons for those men who were now well enough to fight again after Michael’s healing. The village ombudswoman, Stara, had insisted that they all be ready for if the attempt to seal the rift failed. Michael thought it was a smart move, though he wished she hadn’t seemed quite so certain of their failure.
He and Pyotr moved to the edge of the village where Marcus, Ollie, Davi, and Lance were already waiting.
Lance shook his head. “We already look like mercenaries more than soldiers.”
“Better than looking dead,” said Marcus doing a final cursory check on his rifle.
“Everyone ready?” asked Michael.
There were nods, and grunts in the affirmative.
Lance very nearly saluted in answer before stopping himself.
“Yep,” he said, practically forcing himself to sound casual.
Michael had to remind himself that while most of them were adults in the bodies of teenagers, Lance was actually a teenager. A teenager that had been through a lot and was still volunteering to help people he barely knew. He didn’t have the same confidence and swagger that he’d had back in Stent, but Michael was impressed by his ability to keep moving forward.
“Something wrong?” asked Lance, his eyebrow raised as Michael stared at him.
“Nothing, just proud of you.”
“Uh,” said Lance, a bit of redness in his face.
Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.
“You don’t have to make everything awkward,” said Ollie, “you could save it for when you’re plowing old women.”
Michael looked at Marcus with a raised eyebrow.
“What, you thought I would keep that secret forever? Have you met me?”
Michael sighed and moved to the front of the group. “I can sense the general direction of the rift and my smite ability will be the most effective against these… yeti? Everyone good with calling them yeti?”
“What’s a yeti?” asked Lance.
“Earth monster that probably isn’t real. Like a giant gorilla with white fur that lives in the mountains,” said Davi.
“They’re real. I have friends I trust that swear they saw them,” said Pyotr.
Davi paused for a moment. “Considering our situation, I should probably reassess what may or may not be real back on Earth.”
Michael drew his new wool cloak tightly around himself as he scanned the horizon and moved against the freezing wind that was blowing toward them. Even with the added protection, and the heating orbs that Ollie summoned, the cold was cutting and only got worse the further they moved.
They encountered their first ambush after less than two miles. A half dozen of the yeti jumped at them from the snow.
Lance scored the first kill, driving his new spear through the head of one of them as it lunged at him.
Michael drew his new sword and drew two fingers along the flat side of it, making golden flames ignite along its edge as he did so. He parried a yeti claw with the blade and slammed the flat of his shield into the side of its face as it caught fire.
Davi sent out a single strike with his bastard sword and managed to strike one with such strength that he knocked it into another of them. He followed that up by stabbing the one that had been knocked over through its spine.
Pyotr kept his shield on his back and used it to block a rending slash of claws before twirling around like a top and cutting down not only the one that had attacked him, but another that was moving toward Ollie and Marcus. After that he leapt up and kicked one of them in the face with enough force that its head snapped backward with a violent crack that could be heard even over the other sounds of battle.
Ollie was forced to cast a shield when a yeti burst from the snow at his feet, and he smashed at it with the end of his staff, stunning it. While it was on its back foot he jammed the staff tip into its chest.
“Barbie,” he said with a smile, immolating the monster in an instant.
Marcus was ambushed similarly and drove his bayonet through one of them, before whipping around and dropping one that was attempting to get at Davi from behind.
Michael cut through three more before the rest of them fled in the direction of the cold wind. He removed the smite from his blade and checked its condition. It looked to have held up fairly well. There was some scorching on it, and a bit of damage, but he felt it would last much longer than his previous sword had. Still, he’d need to get another thinner sword for regular opponents. The added weight had him feeling sluggish. Against an opponent like Pyotr or Lance he would never be able to land a blow.
He buckled the sword back onto his waist and raised his hand to heal the others. Lance had a nasty cut on his arm, but otherwise everyone seemed to be doing okay.
They continued their cold march toward the rift, and as they moved the attacks became more and more frequent. There would be an ambush, they’d slaughter a few of the yeti, then they’d make it a bit further before the cycle would repeat. In a regular battle of attrition they would’ve been in trouble. The freezing cold on top of the constant exhaustion of fighting and the wounds they suffered would have doomed them. Fortunately, Michael’s healing meant that no one went down, and their experience and cohesiveness meant that they were able to drive off all of the attacks efficiently.
They crested a particularly tall hill and were all nearly thrown back by the sheer force of the wind in front of them. The feeling of wrongness in Michael’s chest had been building for some time very suddenly grew to dread that gripped his heart tightly.
The rift was in front of them, and it was much larger than the last one, maybe fifty feet high. This time it wasn’t an angry red tear, but rather a straight white line that was cut at a jagged angle through the air, pulsing and oscillating as wind and snow whipped out of it. In front of it were what looked like thirty or more of the Yeti. Some sleeping, others engaged in small squabbles, and a few seeming to be on their way to some other area. In their midst were a few Yeti that were much larger than the others, maybe a head taller than Michael’s height and nearing Davi’s width.
They hadn’t been noticed yet, so Michael gestured for all of them to back away slowly, which they did. Luckily the wind couldn’t blow their scent toward the enemy with the violent gusts from the rift, and they were so covered in snow and ice that it acted as a bit of camouflage for them.
Michael looked at the other. “I don’t think we can just fight our way through there. We’re going to need a plan.”