Who: Skaði and an unfortunate mortal [narrative] What: Snowstorm and its aftermath When: Tuesday evening to Thursday morning Where: The Adirondacks Warnings: Long text is long. Also, Skaði as a winter goddess - not pretty.
The snow was crusty under his feet, but the instant he shifted his weight from one foot to another the seemingly solid surface crumbled, sinking him knee-deep in freezing snow. Shuffling forward and tramping down a path was no solution either, exhausting him after just a few steps. At least he had managed to break a long stick from a lone tree - after the chilling tumble into a ditch of snow, he wasn't eager to repeat the experience of being up in snow to his armpits, and used the stick to prod the depth of the snow ahead.
When the snowstorm had surprised him driving across the mountainside, he had belatedly remembered the snow chains, in his garage half a state away. He had driven on for as long as the headlights were able to break through the blizzard, but eventually had to stop for fear of falling down a ravine. The radio yielded only static, reception was poor, and the signal died out before he could place a call. There was nothing to be done except to wait out the storm.
The wind howled outside and the temperature in the car was dropping. The extra sweater he had packed for the weekend would not keep his teeth from chattering. Ignoring what he had heard about storm-stranded stories, he had turned on the heat, gasping as his hands grew warm again.
Half an hour later, he had fallen asleep.
He had awakened to utter silence. Blearily, he had blinked away sleep. It was dark, but light crept in through the upper half of the windshield, revealing vague shapes. The storm had died, and daylight filtered through the snow packed high around and on top of the vehicle.
It was cold, he had suddenly realized. The heating was still keyed on, but no hot air came from the vents. Turning the key had proved his suspicions - the car battery was dead. The cables were keeping company to the snow chains, for all the good they did him there.
Getting out of the car had been a trial by itself, even though it had warmed his stiff muscles. Snow was piled against the doors, and only through insistent pushing and shoving had he managed to open up a gap wide enough to slip out.
Outside, it had been a winter wonderland. For a moment he had stood still, gaping at the beauty of the unmarred blanket of snow that covered everything as far as the eye could see, morphing trees into tall white spires and creating new valleys and hills. The sky was crisp and clear, the world washed anew.
Then realization had hit him like a train. As much as the landscape had changed under the snow, there was no possibility of it being the path he had been following the previous evening. No familiar landmarks, nothing to indicate where he had come from. Driving in the dark, he had left the main road and ended up only God knew where.
If the situation had been dismal before, it had gone dire then. He had no food, no maps, and no clothes fit for the weather. Already his boots were soaked and his toes numbing wet. His cellphone battery had died with the cold. No hope of anyone finding him where he was; the landscape had a look of wilderness to it, of somewhere untouched by civilization.
With no other option, he had started walking.
It had been dawn when he set out; the sun was climbing steadily toward its peak before he managed to cross a field that would have taken him less than fifteen minutes in dry weather. Shambling through the deep snow had one advantage - his upper body was warm from the effort, even though his teeth were chattering from the biting cold below his waist. His thin wool gloves did nothing to keep the cold and wet out, and his fingers were stiff and numb no matter how he rubbed them together.
The worst part was not the physical exhaustion, however. The mental drain, the utter absurdity of finding himself stranded, the urge to sit down and rest just for a little while - those were the thoughts that assailed him, weighing down his feet.
Keep walking. One step at a time. One more step, and then you can rest. One more. One more.
As the sun reached the zenith and started falling to the horizon, he began to despair. Nothing around him but the damnable snow, no cars, no roads, not a single trace of civilization. The prospect of finding himself out there in the night, with no light or shelter, haunted him as the sun inched inexorably down. One foot after the other.
He must have dozed as he walked, because when he looked up the stars were coming out and the light of dusk was ebbing away. Letting go of his walking stick, he collapsed to his knees, sobbing. The tears burned on his blistered skin, solidifying before they fell.
He had to keep going. His wife and baby boy were out there, waiting for him.
Pushing himself up, he started forward again as night set about him. The hushed silence of the day gave way to the sounds of the night; he had seen no animal yet, but now he could hear them. Something shuffling among the trees, an owl hooting on its perch, a distant howl, followed by another - coyotes, surely. He had read somewhere there were no wolves on the Adirondacks anymore.
The moon rose, a sliver of white, pale moonlight reflected on the snow. Once he had considered winter landscapes a thing of beauty; now he cursed them with all his heart. If - when - he managed to get to a road, he would never set foot on a mountain again.
He did not see it for what it was at first, his mind as cold and tired as his body. Slowly, he made the connection between the flickering light on a hill, off to the side, and a campfire. Where there was a fire, there had to be people. His hopes renewed, he made for the blessed orange glow.
It took him a long while to get there. The flames seemed to run away from him, taunting and teasing, daring him to walk just a little further. Still, he plodded on, intent on getting out of the white nightmare.
The marvelous scent of cooking meat was followed by the sound of the fire itself, crackling merrily on heavy logs. Starving for warmth, he put his hands toward the fire even before noticing the woman sitting opposite him.
"Cold night to be out," she said curtly. He raised his eyes. In front of him was a blond woman, her pale face all that peeked from her winter clothing. Her eyes were cold as ice, but to him that was the warmest gaze he had ever seen. He was going to get home, he had found help, he was safe.
She didn't ask questions. Instead, she produced a camp knife and cut a large portion of the meat roasting by the fire.
"Be careful, it's hot."
His hands shook so bad he had trouble cutting the meat. In the end, he gave up and tore at it with hands and teeth. Let her think what she would, he didn't care anymore.
Even with the fire, he couldn't seem to get warm. She stared at him with those blue eyes while he dug into the succulent meat. When he finished, she rose to her feet.
"You will freeze to death in those clothes."
It was a relief to have someone else talking sense; he was too exhausted and cold to think, and she seemed to know what she was about.
She stripped him of his soaked clothes, rubbing warmth into his frozen muscles. When she took her gloves off, her hands were cold, yet as they ran across his skin he felt life returning slowly.
So entranced was him on the blissful ecstasy of feeling warm, he barely noticed when she stripped as well, pulling him down with her to lie on the snow. Warmth coursed through him, easing his aching bones, and as he shivered uncontrollably he felt his skin boil, his muscles burn, his eyes blister...
When dawn came, it found a bluish corpse lying naked in the snow, dead eyes staring at the sky. Of Skaði and her campsite there was no sign.