Note:
This story takes place between the stories Castlevania Tales "Lost Blood" and "Thy Brother's Keeper."
It is three years after the events of Castlevania 64 / Legacy of Darkness. In the years following the game, Reinhardt and Rosa were married and adopted Carrie as their daughter. Currently the family lives in London, England. We come to the newly formed family at a moment where Reinhardt is away, hunting some supernatural specter. For although Dracula has been put rest for another hundred years, his minions as well as other evils still stalk the Earth. In his absence, Reinhardt has left Henry to guard his family while also serving as Carrie's instructor in magic arts.
1856
Everest Peak #15
Soft
White
Graceful
Joy
When one thinks of snow, words such as those usually spring to mind. Snow is a catalyst for the holiday spirit. Every year there is always that one child who experiences it for the first time. They clutch it in their hands and poke at it. Very quickly the child begins to roll the foreign substance in their palms into the shape of a ball. And faster than you can yell, "watch out!" The child has learned the ancient art of throwing snowballs at unsuspecting victims. To many an adult and child snow was a symbol of childish happiness. However most of those parents and children had never sat on the ledge of mountain in Annapurna at 5000 meters. For Harrison Thatcher, snow was the bane of his existence. As the storm raged, snow barraged his face at incredible speed making the snowflakes feel like rocks. There was nothing soft, graceful, or joyous about the snowfall in the Himalayas. Even their soothing white color was a danger here. Whiteouts proved to be deadly and many were known to have walked off the edge unknowingly unto their deaths.
Curiously, as Thatcher stomped through knee high snow, the storm did not bother him. In fact, the icy cold that normally one felt even to the bone was notably absent. He progressed effortlessly hugging the mountainside. He was totally alone, a fact which seemed not to bother him. His docile and yet disgustingly primitive guides were not present. His colleagues Crosby, Richards, and Stromm were evidently elsewhere since he could not hear their endless prattling. Alfred, his assistant, who at least had a brain, small though it was, was absent as well. He was alone, and he was happy because of it.
Human company was something that repulsed him. Had Thatcher been the first man upon this earth, he would have been happy to live with the animals alone in Eden. In fact he probably would have left paradise before Eve had the opportunity to offer him the fruit.
Although now he was covered in snow and icicles, he was generally considered to be a handsome man with striking auburn hair. The importance of hygiene having been impressed upon him by his mother, Thatcher's smile was also renowned among the ladies as being perfect. He also had the gift of intellect, being prized among his colleagues in the study of botany. Finally, he had the greatest gift of all, youth. At the age of 33, he was the object of desire for numerous women many years his junior, some even his senior. However Thatcher was not interested. His revulsion to human company was not limited to any particular sex. Despite rumors, he was not interested in men. He simply did not like people in general. He tolerated the species of which he belonged only so long as they were of use to him. Other "people" were the cooks who fed him, the tailors that clothed him, and workers that produced the various material possessions that he loved. If he could do it all on his own, he would probably annihilate the species without a second thought.
As he continued his trek he noticed something very important was missing. He didn't know where he was going. For reasons beyond him, he did not panic. He did not even try to search his own pockets for a map. Perhaps he had woken early and decided to move ahead on his own? He couldn't remember leaving camp. In fact he could not remember what the last thing he did was. All he could remember was this trek.
Much like a puppet being controlled by an invisible hand, Thatcher continued in his forward direction. Eventually he came upon a horizontal rise that blocked any further progress. This did not perturb him. Instead, with poilet1 firm in hand, Thatcher began to pick at the wall.
To his amazement, the mountainside was made of pure ice and it quickly fell to pieces under his fierce jabs. Once the ice had fallen, a circular entry was underneath. Thatcher extended his hand. As it reached beyond the threshold, his body felt sudden and overwhelming warmth. A soft voice suddenly filled his ears.
"Come to us," it said.
He did not recognize the voice, but it was soft-spoken and strangely alluring. He had never before felt such a sensation from someone's voice.
"Be with us," the voice continued.
The sensation that filled Harrison was completely foreign to him. The attraction that he suddenly felt was unprecedented in his memory. But every fiber of his being denied it and fought against the urges that suddenly raged within him. An image abruptly popped into his mind. It was horrible. He closed his eyes but the images were still there engraved upon the darkness that normally came when his eyelids met.
"No!" Harrison screamed.
He found himself rising from his shaky bed in his tent. The thin sheet that separated him from the ground was damp with his sweat. Hastily he got up and pulled a rag from his bag in order to dry his back. Already he felt the cold biting at him. It would do him no good to catch pneumonia now. After getting dressed and slipping into his heavy parka, Harrison exited his tent. An arctic landscape almost exactly as the one that had filled his dream greeted him. The whistle of the wind filled his ears, along with the flapping of the tent. The camp was made of only a small number of tents. His was the only one that was not shared. Everyone else shared theirs with at least one person. The final tent acted as both the supply tent and the "mess hall." Harrison started stomping his way through the knee-high snow to have breakfast. About half way he heard his name called out. In the below zero conditions, stopping was not a problem, moving ahead was. So when Harrison turned, it was with great displeasure that he greeted the source of the call. Always youthful, energetic, and annoying, Alfred came running to his side.
"Professor."
"What is it Alfred? I'm going to have breakfast."
"May I accompany you, sir?"
"We are camped on a mountainside, Alfred." He sighed. "Do I have a choice?"
The man laughed as if it were meant as a joke. "Yes, of course." He paused for a moment and his tone changed. It was not one that Harrison had heard before. It was a mixture of fear and excitement. "Have you given much thought as to our destination today?"
"Some," was Harrison's only reply. His thoughts recalled the location in his dream. The image and path to it were vivid in his mind's eye.
"I was thinking perhaps about heading East across the slopes. I think there might be a…"
Suddenly Harrison stopped. The directions Alfred churned out of his mouth struck a chord. Every detail seemed exactly like the one from his dream. "…a vertical slope?"
"What did you say?" Alfred said, bewildered.
"You are describing in vivid detail something I saw in my dreams."
"But that's…"
"Impossible? Yes, it is isn't it?" Harrison continued on his way without waiting for his assistant. He entered the mess tent and was greeted with a little warmth from a small fire they had set up inside. A small table with a few chairs was the only decoration. Seated in each chair was one of Harrison's colleagues. Crosby was the first to speak.
"Ah, Thatcher, about time you woke up. Pleasant dreams?" he asked the question with a sarcastic tone.
"Not really." He answered simply.
The others laughed as if he had made some kind of joke. Harrison swore inwardly that his blood was beginning to boil. He hated these men. Allowing them to accompany him on this expedition began to feel more and more like a mistake with each passing moment. A rush of cold air blew in as Alfred entered the tent. Harrison did not dally; he walked over to serve himself some soup from the pot that hung above the fire. He did not have to look back to the table to know that there was no chair for him. His dislike for them was common knowledge. None of them would offer their seat, and he would not ridicule himself by asking. Standing helped with the digestion he told himself. He stood himself by the pot and quietly sipped his soup.
"Have you told them?" Alfred asked.
Ever impetuous, Harrison was again bothered. He had not wanted to tell the others. However he already suspected they had had similar experiences.
"Told us what?" Richards came forth.
"Nothing of consequence. Just that I've decided what our new direction should be."
"And when did you plan to tell us," Stromm asked.
"I suspect from the grins on all your faces, you already know."
"They do?" Alfred continued with his bewildered expression. Harrison began to rethink his opinion on his intelligence.
"I suspect that each of us has had the same or at least similar dream. We all saw ourselves marching on a particular path, reaching an ice wall, and breaking through to the cave hidden beyond. Finally I assumed you were all…" Harrison paused to try and think of an appropriate word, but his vocabulary failed him. "…assailed as was I."
Stromm was an older man and showed a little embarrassment at the thought of the images that had filled his dreams last night. He was once a married man now widowed. It shamed him to think how quickly he gave into the temptuous voices that called to him. Crosby on the other hand had no such recriminations. "Oh come now Thatcher, it couldn't have been all that bad."
Harrison suddenly felt uneasy. He hated feeling uneasy. He tried to keep his composure. "So I am correct?" The silence that followed was his answer.
Alfred as usual was quick with the obvious and therefore stupid question. "How did this happen? What does it mean?"
The young man's stupidity was a boost to Harrison. "There have been scant phenomena of groups of confined or close quarter people sharing dreams. This could be such a case. Therefore any talk of the source is inconsequential. The images and thoughts were collective and therefore have no source. That is one theory."
"You have another?" queried Crosby.
"Yes. The other possibility is that there are forces at work which are at the moment beyond our comprehension."
"For the moment?" Richards chimed in.
"I say that because if that theory is accurate, then we should travel to the place we saw and confront it. There we will find our answer. If it is a case of collective dreaming, then there will be nothing. If we find something, anything, then by default we have our answer." Harrison paused. "Are we in agreement?"
The various head nodded, except for Alfred. Nothing was made of his lack of agreement. It was assumed that even if he hadn't nodded, he would side with the majority.
"Very well, then make ready your supplies, and let us follow our dreams, so to speak."
The next several hours was an experience in déjà vu for the group. As they trudged through the rising levels of snow, they were amazed at how accurate their vision had been. Every turn and every slope was exactly realized. All of them were excited except for the pair of unfortunate guides/servants that they had hired. They refused to reveal whether or not they had shared the dream as well. They were far too occupied with the ominous implications of a shared vision. For them it meant impending doom. They wanted nothing to do with that. Harrison threatened to throw them off the cliff if they did not adhere to the contract that they had agreed to. That put them in line, however it did not quiet them.
"He's a little on edge," Alfred thought to himself. "That could prove dangerous." The thought of the great Harrison Thatcher becoming unhinged was a scary thought indeed. He had always been so calm under the greatest pressure. It was unnerving to see him preoccupied. It was so out of the ordinary for the man who usually could not be bothered by the worries of others. Alfred knew that Harrison had an ego. He knew that he thought that everyone, including himself, seemed beneath him. Nevertheless, Alfred felt that the man was destined for greatness. That was the only reason he followed him on this insane expedition. The successful finds of Dr. Wilfred Glendon of fauna unique to arctic areas had been the impetus for Harrison to mount his own search. He did this despite Glendon's fate, which had cast a black cloud over future expeditions.
"The storm is getting stronger! We'll freeze!" Richards exclaimed over the howling weather.
"It's all right, look!" Harrison answered. His finger pointed towards their destination, just barely in sight. Just a short while more and they arrived at the vertical rise, which formed a dead end on the side of the mountain. Under normal circumstances there would be no way to go but up or back the way they came. However just like in the dream, Harrison jabbed at the wall with his pick and revealed that it was in fact a sheet of ice. He placed his hand against it.
"It's warm." He looked at the guides, "you two, make an entry for us."
The two began to shake their heads. Speaking brokenly in their own tongues, the only thing that was clear was, "no, no!"
"Damn you, I said work!" The yelling was to no avail. They continued to refuse. "Do you want to freeze to death? It's warm beyond this!" But the men just turned and walked back the way they came.
"Can you believe it? The fools have signed their own death warrants," Crosby added.
"Or we have." Stromm said quietly. Everyone heard him and glared. "This isn't right. Something's wrong," he added.
"Shut up, Stromm." Crosby picked up an axe and began to chop at the ice.
Here reality differed from the dream. It took the work of them all to open an entry way. Death seemed to loom over them as temperatures became worse and they began to move slower. Stromm was the first to fall. Their worked ultimately paid off. They managed to make a relatively small opening through which they could all squeeze through.
All of them felt a rush of relief as the heat that lay beyond refreshed them. Richards managed to drag Stromm inside and laid him on the ground. The heat quickly revived him. Immediately beyond the ice sheet was an entrance to a tunnel that went deep into the mountainside. A faint phosphorescent light allowed them to see enough to strike a match and make some torches. Once lit, the group saw a strange growth on the walls of the cave. Harrison inspected it closely.
"What is it?" Crosby asked.
"If I am not mistaken, it seems to be some kind of plant growth. How it managed to get here will prove an interesting story. Also the size, look at how it seems to cover such a large part of the wall. The roots come from within the cave."
"What about this heat? How could there be such a stable climate here, surrounded by such sub-zero temperatures?" Richard queried.
Harrison jumped in with an answer before anyone. "Obviously there needs to be some kind of heat source. A massive one at that, to be able to maintain this temperature."
"What do you think that heat source could be?" Alfred asked.
Harrison, quite content to listen to the sound of his own voice was about to answer, but was interrupted.
"Come to us." A voice said. The voice was gentle, it seemed to ride on a current of wind.
"What the devil was that?" Stromm said anxiously.
"The answer to all our questions," Harrison said before heading off deeper into the cave. As always, he did not wait for anyone. The others needed no hint; they quickly rose up to follow his lead. Stromm was the only one that struggled to keep pace. The group paced through the dark tunnel until it finally widened into a large cavern. The sight that greeted their eyes was both amazing and horrifying. Their faces were in awe of their own discovery.
"Come to us. Be with us." The voice became a chorus and chanted.
Harrison saw as his teammates were taken away from his side. He did not care; he merely remained where he stood. All the nightmarish visions that he had seen in his dreams were nothing more than that. The landscape before him was paradise, his own personal Eden. Nothing could ruin this moment, not even the screams of his colleagues as they died.
Historical Note:
Ice axes were first invented in the mid-1800s and sometimes called piolets.
