"Freitag's Kinder"

by MT Friday III

Pt. 2

"Wake up!", Freitag screamed at the motionless boy. The pale blue boy was sitting upright under the small outcropping of rock with his knees to his chest, arms around his legs. Ice hung from the tip of his nose and chin, his lips and eyes dark blue."Fluch es Rowen! WAKE UP!!", screamed Freitag. His brother's eyes popped open, black as coal, and a fang filled muzzle appeared where his mouth had been. Freitag bolted upright in bed, breathing hard and sweating. He had fallen asleep. Looking around the lodge, and seeing the rest of his family safely still asleep, Freitag quietly slipped out of bed. He pulled back the window covering and opened the shutter just far enough to peak outside. Snow had piled up to the bottom of the window frame and the world appeared in a blue tint by the pre-dawn light. But the storm seemed to have run it's course and the stars could be seen in the crisp clear sky. It had lasted almost four days, the longest and fiercest storm in recent memory.

Freitag went to the fire pit and added wood to the still glowing embers. He then reached out the window and grabbed a double handful of snow, wiping his face and hands with it. Careful to not to disturb his family, Freitag quietly wrapped some dried meat, bread and cheese up in a scarf. This bundle he added to his sack and gear. Then with the grace and prowess of a much younger man, he stealthily slipped out the door of lodge into the brisk winter morning carrying his weapons and gear.

If not for the circumstances, it could have been said to be a beautiful winter's morning. The sun had peaked over the mountains into the valley, bathing it in a golden glow that reflected off the snow.  Freitag's thoughts were not on the scenery, but of the grim task before him. Finding his son's body to give him a proper funeral was all that mattered to Freitag now. He wanted to believe that the boy was still alive, but surviving four days and three nights in the worst storm in ages would be asking too much of hope. As he put the schneeskis planks on his feet, Freitag heard the rhythmic crunch of someone walking on new snow. Looking up he saw his friend Gunter walking towards him carrying his own weapons and gear.

"Guten morgen, Freitag", said Gunter as he approached. "And what is so good about it freund?", replied Freitag flatly. Gunter looked down, nodding his head. Then looking around Gunter said, "he probably headed up the north side of valley, towards the old caves". "Ya, that sounds about right", Freitag replied, looking north. Then Freitag stood, shouldering his gear and weapons, testing to see how well he had tied the schneeskis to his feet. He then picked up the winged hunting spear and used it as a walking staff. Without a word, both men began walking north side by side.

It was mid afternoon as the two approached the foothills of the mountain that formed the northern rim of the valley. Looking up, the mountain looked like a frost covered giant towering above them. Avalanches would be the biggest danger here. Wordlessly they began the slow, arduous climb up the mountain. Few animals or birds were seen as the two trekked forward, just leagues of snow covered pine. The only sound, other than the two men crunching through the snow, was the occasional dollops of snow falling from the trees as the day warmed.

By dusk they had made it as far as they could, it was time to set up camp and build a fire. As Gunter collected wood, Freitag set up their tent under a large pine tree, careful to knock off any snow from the limbs above before hand. With that done, both men dug out their meager supplies and had a cold meal by firelight. Gunter offered to take first watch, but Freitag had insisted he would stay awake while Gunter slept.

Midway through the cold evening, Gunter awoke and took his place by the fire. Freitag laid down in the tent, but sleep would not come. After what seemed like an eternity, the sky began to lighten as dawn approached. Both men broke camp, and started what would be their routine for next two days.

On the third evening as Gunter watched Freitag nodding off mid-meal from lack of sleep, there was a loud ‘snap' from somewhere in the darkness. In an instant both men had jumped to their feet. Freitag was wide awake now, his spear in hand and shield at the ready. Gunter had grabbed his two handed axe and was standing with his back to Freitag, waiting to see what kind of intruder they had.

 Freitag had feared something like this might happen. They had trapped and killed a rabbit earlier in the day, and he knew the scent of blood might attract predators. Both men had enough sense to gut and clean the carcass where they caught it, then took only what they had intended on eating that night. They had thoroughly cleaned all the blood from their knives and hands in a stream before heading back to camp, but some animals had a very good sense of smell. And most of them were not to be trifled with.

<<< to be continued >>>

 "Freitag's Kinder"

by MT Friday III

Pt. 1

As the moon slowly rose above the snow covered mountains, the air seemed so crisp it might shatter with even the smallest sound. Not even a gentle breeze stirred to disturb the serenity. Then, almost as if on cue, the haunting call of a lone wolf pierced the silence. Freitag shivered despite his long heavy cloak. It was not cold that had caused the shiver, but the memory of facing an entire pack with only an axe and dagger. Freitag fingered the scars on his left arm, tracing the old wounds with his fingertips as though he had never felt them before. He had been very young back then, very young and very foolish. Freitag started to smile as he thought upon his youth, but it quickly faded as he also remembered the consequences of some of those youthful impulses... impulses that had been nothing but pure folly.

Within his clan hunting and killing a bear was second in attaining honor and glory only to vanquishing a foe in combat. The shear volume of attention bestowed was such to inspire many a young fool to disaster. Freitag as a child had been enthralled by the elders' tales of brave and heroic figures who were the embodiment of honor and glory, and often dreamt of being those legendary heroes. Unfortunately like so many boys approaching manhood, Freitag's dreams became fantasies, the kind of fantasies that make all young men eager to grow up before their time. And like so many boys on the cusp of manhood he often let those fantasies outweigh common sense, lacking the patience and wisdom needed to truly understand the ideals he had come to worship. It would end up being a lesson he would learn as all young men seem to...the hard way.

No member of his clan had killed a bear in almost two generations. His grandfather had killed a bear when he was a very young man and had worn the claws and teeth as a necklace when Freitag was a child. Grandfather had always insisted that killing the bear had been done out of necessity, not because he had been hunting the bear. Grandfather had seemed more embarrassed than proud of this feat, refusing to tell his own tale to anyone not blood kin. According to Grandfather he had simply been seeking shelter from an unexpected winter storm when he and the bear crossed paths. When asked, Grandfather would tell the rest of the clan that the bear had been asleep for the winter when he stumbled upon the den, implying this gave him some kind of advantage over the monstrous predator. But everyone in the tribe knew even a bear awoke from slumber could be a very dangerous foe,  and continued to heap praise upon the old warrior until the day of his funeral pyre. Freitag had not understood his Grandfather's reluctance at the time, or his Grandfather's dire warnings to leave bear alone. With that thought of his grandfather, a smile crept to Freitag's face. He tried to imagine what the grizzled old warrior might say today, what kind of advice he might give about being a father. And with that last thought Freitag's smile again waned.

Freitag's jaw clenched as he attempted to show none of the emotions roiling within him. His eldest son was out there somewhere in the unforgiving and deadly cold. Dead or alive, Freitag had no way of knowing his son's fate. The boy had slipped off from home three days  earlier, just before a terrible storm hit the valley. The only thing Freitag was sure of was that he had to appear strong, even stoic at times, for his family's sake. His wife had resolved herself to crying, mothering their babes, and working her needle. She had refused to be consoled by Freitag, adding to his frustration, while telling their children that their brother was safe and would be home soon. But even the youngest of the babes knew something was wrong for they could see the worry and fear in their mother's eyes. She laid sleeping with the children now, as Freitag watched her chest rise and fall with the rhythmic breathing of sleep. He had not slept since this ordeal started, hoping to have heard something by now.

Part of Freitag wanted to run bursting from the family's lodge house into the freezing night to search for his wayward son. But another part of him knew that the rest of the family needed him more here, and that he could nothing until dawn anyways. This inner conflict had raged within Freitag all day like the fearsome ice storm that had blown through the valley and mountains, doing nothing for his surly disposition. As a result it appeared to the people around Freitag that he was more angry about his son disobeying him than concerned for the boy's safety. Freitag could not tell his family it was fear in his heart, not anger, for he knew first hand the dangers his son might be facing. Dangers that the very thought of would make any man's blood run cold, much less a man with a missing son. It was against all of this that Freitag had become a stone wall, fighting an ever rising tide of anxiety and fear.

"What a young dummkopf I had been", thought Freitag to himself, as his eyes watered from the cold air steaming through the open window. It had been his third season of hunting when he had done something very similar. Against his family's wishes, and more importantly against his Grandfather's warning, he had struck out one winter's morning to hunt and kill a bear. Having no prior experience hunting alone, young Freitag had no idea what hardships he was in for. Besides not bringing enough food and gear, Freitag did not have the winter wilderness survival skills an older and experienced hunter would have had. Worse, he had let his little brother tag along. He had tried to sneak out in the early morning hours without his mother seeing him leave, for she would have asked where he was going with all the hunting gear. But his little brother Rowen had also awoke early and had asked the same question. Freitag had tried to lie to Rowen, telling him he was running errands for father. But his little brother knew better and refused to go back into the lodge, threatening to tell if Freitag didn't bring him along. It would be a decision that he would regret for the rest of his life. When it was all said and done, Freitag had lost his brother to the killing cold, and nearly his left arm to a vicious pack of hungry wolves.

<<< to be continued>>>