The journey took a couple of hours. We walked along the far-left tributary—if looking from the center where the streams converged to form the main channel of the Ziddy River. Ugh, I keep slipping into the familiar names, but this isn’t the river I know. The dwellings of the settlement stretched almost to the eternal snow line, falling just short of it. This was truly a remote place, set apart from the main cluster of homes. The distances between them were even greater here. There must have been a reason for that, though such dispersion only worked in the killer’s favor.
We approached one of the dwellings. Near the entrance, seated on stones sunk into the ground and arranged like a bench, were two of the natives. At first, I thought they were squatting, but when they stood, I saw it was a kind of stone bench. Finally, I dropped my backpack. I’d almost grown accustomed to its weight, barely feeling it anymore, but still, the relief was palpable after the long trek. Those already on their feet simply stood. Our group halted in a semicircle near the entrance, and I joined them. We stood there, waiting for something.
Ah, hell, I’m the one who’s supposed to inspect the place. No wonder they’re waiting for me to get on with it.
I stepped forward. One of the figures by the entrance pulled aside the hide covering the doorway. All I had to do was enter.
Inside, just like in the elder’s dwelling, semi-darkness reigned. For the first few moments after the blinding sun, I could see nothing. As my eyes adjusted, it got a bit better, but visibility was still poor. I considered pulling back the hide at the entrance but changed my mind—instead, I switched to the wolf’s night vision.
Suddenly, it was as bright as day, but the sight that greeted me was grim. The family had been taken by surprise in their sleep. Everyone lay in their places. Like in the elder’s home, two raised platforms—beds—dominated the center, each bearing a body. I approached one. The deceased were dressed in simple cloth shirts and covered with tanned hides instead of blankets. I lifted the edge of the nearest hide.
The body was almost mummified—as if all the juices had been sucked out. That happens when every drop of energy is drained. The face was frozen in a horrifying grimace of suffering. So, this man—apparently—had been conscious when he was killed. I examined his hands. His fists were clenched so tightly that his nails had dug into his palms. Meaning, he’d been paralyzed at the moment of death.
I checked all the rooms. In what seemed to be the kitchen, there was no one, and perfect order prevailed. There was something like a stove there. I recalled that I hadn’t seen any chimneys on the dwellings. I inspected the structure—there was a flue. I went back outside and examined the area near the kitchen. There was simply a stone-lined hole. Those sitting outside ignored my appearance. They didn’t even speak among themselves—a strange, detached people.
I went back inside. Finally, I figured out how light entered: a row of small holes had been made high up. Apparently, they served for both light and ventilation. But how did they deal with insects or small rodents? Probably had their own method.
The stove. Nothing near the exit or the entrance indicated anything had gotten inside.
Besides the main hall, where the elder and his woman likely slept, other rooms also contained beds with dead bodies. All were in the same state as the first man I’d examined. One room held three beds—with smaller bodies on them: children or adolescents. Another had two beds; on one lay two larger bodies, perhaps the eldest son and his wife. A third room also had two beds, but only one held a corpse. On a spread-out hide nearby lay the remains of a meal, overturned clayware—a large platter, several smaller plates, and a couple of small cups resembling bowls. Someone had clearly been dining here, and not alone. But there was only one body. Though, it could have been those now lying in the neighboring rooms.
I shifted into the wolf and began slowly circling the rooms, hoping to catch a scent of something. But no—the picture only confirmed itself. It smelled only of these beings, no traces of anyone else.
Returning to human form, I left the dwelling and announced to the air:
“I’m finished.”
And I headed for my backpack.
Wait. I could check the surrounding area too. Obviously, they’d already scoured the place, but maybe as a wolf…
Without delay, I shifted back into the wolf. Hiding from these snow people was pointless—they already knew exactly who I was. Then I felt a pressure—emanating from the group standing at a distance. I glanced their way.
Whoa. I think it was the first time I’d seen any expression on their faces. They stood frozen like posts, staring at me—or rather, at the wolf—in astonishment. So there you go, know your place. Walking around with stone faces as if nothing could faze them. Interestingly, the pressure came specifically from their gazes. Not as heavy as the elder’s, but quite palpable. Curious.
I’d have to deal with that later. Right now, there were more important matters. I lowered my head to the ground and, sniffing, began circling the dwelling, increasing the radius with each lap.
Again, nothing. Just the scents of small creatures, traces of the snow people—and nothing more.
I returned to my backpack, moved to a small rise not far from the dwelling, and got out my stove—I wanted coffee. Went to the stream, fetched water, boiled it, and brewed the drink. Sat down to observe my fellow intelligent beings, pondering the mystery.
There are corpses. No traces or scent—not inside, not outside. So, the killer is incorporeal? Flew in, penetrated inside, paralyzed everyone, drained their energy, and vanished. But that doesn’t add up. If it were so incorporeal as to leave no traces, it couldn’t affect the physical world—let alone drain such a vast amount of energy. Even assuming it entered in such a form, after its actions, it couldn’t remain intangible—it must have left *something* behind. But there’s nothing. Very strange.
Meanwhile, they carried the bodies out of the dwelling and began wrapping them in the same hides—apparently the most popular material here. They fashioned something like stretchers from leather and long poles and, in pairs, started heading back along the trail.
By then, I’d finished my coffee and packed my things into the backpack. I stood up and joined the mournful procession.
As we neared the river confluence, one of those not carrying a stretcher waved at me—a gesture to follow—and began ascending toward one of the dwellings. Reaching it, he pointed at the door and grumbled:
“You’ll stay here.”
Considering his mission accomplished, he turned and walked back down.
I stopped at the entrance, covered by a hide, and surveyed the area. The dwelling was on the same ridge as the elder’s house but lower—closer to the river.
I went inside. The layout was the same as the elder’s and the one we’d just inspected. I checked all the rooms—the place seemed uninhabited, at least for now.
Well then. I dropped my backpack by the central bed and went back out. Looked toward where the men with the stretchers had gone. They had stopped right at the river confluence. They were rewrapping the bodies—packing them onto what looked like small, single-person rafts, as I understood it. From all corners of the settlement, other inhabitants began gathering near the water. Everyone stopped at some distance from the working men. It all happened in complete silence.
It seemed the funeral ritual the elder had mentioned was about to take place.
I was close to the stream. I crossed it via a small bridge to the opposite bank—for a better view—climbed a bit higher, found a suitable rock, and sat down to observe.
Dusk was gradually falling. What seemed like most of the settlement had gathered at the confluence, though not all: near some dwellings, snow people stood and simply watched from there. The ceremony was quite simple: they lowered the rafts into the water, holding them back; the elder said something (I couldn’t hear from here); and then the river simply carried the rafts away. One by one, they launched all the bodies, after which the people began to disperse.
Full darkness had set in. Torches stuck into the ground remained at the ritual site, and the tribal elder sat alone, gazing in the direction the river had carried the bodies.
I got up and approached him, sitting down nearby. Stared silently in the same direction. “Where will they end up? Does this world have boundaries?” “None of our people have ever reached the edges of the enclave. Roughly two days’ journey out, the world begins to fade—as does anyone who goes further. So no one goes beyond that. No one wants to test what that fading leads to. We believe the bodies of the dead dissolve in that haze, becoming part of the surrounding space, remaining with us forever. Reborn as the earth that carries us, the water that quenches our thirst, the animals and plants that feed and clothe us. Perhaps they are reborn as new members of the tribe. We don’t know for sure. We simply believe.”
There was nothing to comment on. And I didn’t think he expected words from me. We just sat in silence.
After half an hour, he rose and slowly trudged toward his dwelling. I stood up and followed him.
“You examined… that place?” he asked on the way.
“Yes. Very unusual. Even for a spirit.”
“What exactly?”
“Absolutely no traces. Not a hint of residual scent, nothing at all. That’s what’s unusual. There’s always something left. Maybe something unclear, leading nowhere, but there’s always *something*. Here, though… it’s as if no one was ever there. The people just died a strange death, that’s all. Yes, they were clearly killed, no doubt. But what kind of killer is this?”
“What do you plan to do?”
“If it’s a spirit—hell, even a sorcerer!—it must have some kind of lair. I’ll try to search for it.”
“We thought the same. But our searches have yielded nothing so far. Or our hunters don’t know what to look for. Perhaps you’ll have better luck.”
“We’ll see. I’ll start in the morning.”
By then, we had reached a sort of fork where our paths diverged. I went to my dwelling, the elder to his.
Approaching the house, I noticed someone had been there in my absence: the hide covering the entrance had been pushed aside. I distinctly remembered it hanging straight when I left. Trying not to show it, I approached as quietly as possible, yanked the hide aside, and stepped inside in one swift motion.
No one was there. But a hide was spread out by the bed, and on it stood a covered dish, several small plates, a cup, and a jug. Clearly, someone had taken care of my dinner.
Well, let’s see what they eat here.
On the dish was stewed meat with recognizable root vegetables like turnips and some greens. It was still warm. I tasted it—pretty good. It just lacked salt and pepper, but that was easily fixed: I always had some in my backpack. I got out the seasonings and sampled the contents of the jug—it was something like a fruit drink, slightly tart, slightly sweet, but palatable enough.
Wouldn’t do to offend the hosts. I sat on the bed and started on the meal.
After eating, I decided to get some air and stepped outside. I saw someone sitting on one of the stones embedded in the ground. A torch stuck in the earth nearby cast enough light for me to see it was a female. During dinner, I’d heard some commotion outside and seen flickers of firelight but hadn’t paid it much mind—people come and go. No one had approached the entrance, so fine.
As soon as she saw me, the figure on the stone rushed toward the entrance. I even had to step aside to avoid being bowled over. I listened to what she was doing inside. Ah, gathering the dinner dishes.
Soon the hide was thrown back, and my visitor burst out, clutching a bundle.
“Thanks for dinner, beautiful,” I decided to be polite.
She giggled and swiftly vanished into the darkness. She was large, like all the inhabitants here, but her behavior clearly marked her as an adolescent. She ran off in the direction of the elder’s dwelling. So, he was the one who’d shown concern, and this girl was probably one of the younger relatives—a granddaughter or something like that.
