Chapter 46: The Miraculous Ice Bridge

The next morning, the sky was dark and heavy clouds pressed down like blocks of iron. The sun did not rise again; snow had started falling the day before, and after a night’s brewing, the flurries had grown into a heavy snowfall. The icy wind howled, lashing coldly against everyone.

Children’s cheeks were flushed bright red from the cold. They wore felt hats with ear flaps, huddled close to the adults, warming themselves by the fire. Steam rose from the stew pot. The cook had prepared a rich meat broth—tender beef and mutton ladled into the bowls of the Tania people.

Before dawn, someone had already begun preparing food. This was to be their last hot meal before crossing the creek and forest. When they left, they would abandon these heavy stew pots, each person carrying only the barest minimum of food and clothing, ensuring their loads remained bearable—enough, at least, for three days of arduous travel.

“Don’t eat too much!” Lucas called out. Eating too much would make the journey harder and leave people feeling sluggish. Half a meal, just enough to warm the body, would suffice. Lucas hoped they could reach a place from where they could see the Prague River today—a long road lay ahead. This was a battle of endurance; they could not afford to fall behind at the beginning. The longer it dragged on, the more likely something would go wrong. In the best case, if they kept a good pace for two days, they could cross the forest.

To travel as lightly as possible, they carried only fire-roasted jerky prepared the previous night and black bread found in crates—food that could be eaten straight from their packs. About half an hour later, everyone had finished their preparations. They checked their water skins, shouldered their leather and cloth bags, selected sturdy pine branches for walking sticks, and cast one last look at the abandoned crates and the domestic animals slaughtered the day before.

Some bade farewell to their cattle and sheep, closing their eyes and making gestures of prayer. Not all of the livestock had been raised for meat; some had provided milk or served as labor in the spring—oxen for pulling carts and plowing, sheep for wool and milk. Their owners had given them names like Dolly and Sam, treating them as friends. In peaceful years, people and animals had lived and worked side by side. But now, they had no choice but to let them go. Left unattended in this icy wilderness, there was no food to be found. Domesticated animals could not survive alone in the wild; they would freeze to death or fall prey to winter wolves and other predators. The only mercy left was a swift end.

Veyd noticed a young child weeping beside a motionless sheep. The sheep’s horn was tied with a straw knot—perhaps the child had once ridden it like a knight, brandishing a wooden sword. Tearful, the child buried his face in his mother’s arms, reluctant to part, but there was no time for sorrow.

“Let’s go, head southwest!” Lucas exhaled deeply, picked up his spear, and slung a sheepskin pack over his shoulders.

Women and children walked in the middle of the group. Lucas, Veyd, and several sharp-eyed young men watched the front, while the rear was guarded by experienced elders and strong adults. Those who survived had to keep moving forward. The group pressed on through the falling snow, taking a mountain path that skirted the site of Brontë village. From the heights, they glimpsed the tragic scene below—distorted, rotting flesh in the square and heaps of charred, decaying corpses—spurring them on with renewed determination.

By noon, they entered the forested ravines. The tall Tania pines were blanketed in snow; even in winter, the slender needles remained evergreen. Nimble squirrels leaped from branch to branch. They walked beneath the canopy, those in front wielding machetes to clear the way of dead branches.

Veyd looked up at the crystal-clear icicles clinging to the cliffside—long, sharp, and gleaming. Suddenly, he raised his iron sword and struck above a young man’s head. The youth ducked, shielding his head in alarm. Only after the crisp sound echoed did he open his eyes to find a broken icicle lying at his feet. Had Veyd not acted, that jagged spear of ice might have struck the young man—at best, leaving him bloodied; at worst, killing him outright.

“Th-thank you, sir,” the young man stammered, bowing in fright. Veyd, reliable as ever, patted his shoulder and continued forward. The youth, still shaken, kicked aside the ice and hurried to catch up.

They stayed as much as possible under the thickest boughs. The sky was overcast, and beneath the dense forest, darkness prevailed. Each step was taken with caution, for the shadows seemed to conceal lurking monsters.

When they came upon a clearing, Veyd signaled for Lucas to steer clear of what appeared to be the easiest path. Lucas understood at once. He crouched and picked up a tuft of fur, dirty and dusted with earth, to show the others—polar bear fur. They found claw marks on the tree bark ahead. In a hollow beneath a tree in that clearing, a polar bear was hibernating.

Lucas raised a finger, urging silence. They tiptoed through the bear’s territory, careful not to disturb it. The group pressed on in good order. When someone faltered, another offered a hand. The strong carried the youngest children, everyone helping one another along.

They encountered wild deer in the forest, but the animals only watched from a distance before bounding away. After a day of trekking over hills and ridges, many began to wheeze, their water skins empty. They no longer stopped to melt snow over a fire; instead, they filled their skins with snow and tucked them inside their coats, letting body heat melt it as they walked.

Each person pressed forward with resolve. Lucas used his spear as a walking stick and climbed the slope ahead.

Their progress was faster than Lucas had hoped. He had only wished to reach a spot from which the Prague River could be seen, but unexpectedly, before nightfall, this group—laden with women and children—had arrived at the river’s edge. Sheer willpower had brought them here.

Lucas should have been pleased, but as he gazed at the Prague River, his heart sank. “How… how can this be…” he muttered. The roar of the current filled his ears; the clear river swept through its rocky bed, foaming white where it struck the stones. The Prague River was not frozen.

He leaned against a pine, fists clenched. Everyone stood before the swift, icy river, stunned. In the deep winter of Tania—when even the sea froze—one of the river’s tributaries remained unfrozen. There was no understanding it, no explanation—only a suffocating sense of despair crept in.

“We’ll have to make rafts,” Lucas said quietly. “There’s no turning back now.” At this point, there was only forward.

But the wandering knight shook his head and stepped to the front of the group. Lucas did not know what he intended. Everyone watched his back. The knight, clad in tattered armor, reached into his pocket and drew out a clouded crystal—the Heart of the Dead, Lucas recognized it.

The knight, who had come from afar, knelt on one knee and reached out to touch the rushing water. Everyone stood transfixed, scarcely believing what they saw. Frosty cold radiated from his gloved palm. Ice began to form on the water’s surface—the crackling of freezing echoed as the ice spread like a tide.

A miraculous bridge of ice stretched from one bank of the river to the other. The knight rose, beckoned, and led the way. He stepped onto the bridge, and all the others, looking up at his back, followed in his footsteps, pressing forward once more.