Michael was barely managing to stay on his feet as the rift was sealed, but he forced himself to stay standing, even resisting the last burst of icy wind that blew from it. The forcefield that Ollie had created for him was gone and he moved forward to cut down several more of the yeti before they could rally. Lifting his heavy sword that now felt as if it was just a cinderblock on the end of a stick. Several gunshots from nearby told him that Marcus had the same idea, and Ollie followed those up with several small bursts of lightning. Lance was still surrounded by them, one of his arms hanging limp at his side, but Pyotr and Davi fought their way to him. The truth was, even with the rift closed, the yeti could still kill them if they were able to rally. This was their only chance to break them.

Michael moved toward the others, extending his healing even as he forced himself to cut down at a few yeti that managed to bring themselves to their feet.

There was some whooping and hollering from them for a few moments, and Michael steeled himself, but luckily it seemed that their sounds were the preface of a retreat rather than an attack. The remaining yeti all began running for the nearby hills where the snow was at its thickest. Michael kept himself standing for a few moments, making sure that the yeti were fully committed to their retreat, when his legs gave out beneath him. He dismissed smite from his blade and stopped healing the others. His hands pressed deep into the snow and his right that held his blessings was actually causing it to hiss and steam a bit.

He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see Ollie behind him.

“You alright, mate?”

Michael nodded and forced himself to sit back, which quickly became laying down on his back.

“Fine. Just making snow angels.”

“Ah… well you’re doing a shit job.”

Michael chuckled, but was too worn down to think of a good retort.

“How’s everyone else doing?” he asked.

Ollie looked around at the others, Michael could hear them walking toward him, the snow crunching beneath their boots.

“They seem alright, thanks to my spellwork and your healing keeping them alive. They’d be dead without us though.”

“So no different from usual then?” asked Michael with a smile.

“I’m honestly not sure how they even manage to shit without our help,” replied Ollie, making sure he was loud enough that the others could hear him.

“We can’t. I haven’t properly wiped my ass in days,” replied Pyotr. “Luckily, my own odor keeps me from having to smell you.”

Michael laughed and slowly pushed himself back up. He could see Marcus walking down from the large hill he’d been on, he seemed unharmed. He looked at Lance, who was looking over the battlefield. It was a sea of white broken up with splashes of bright red.

“You fought well,” said Michael walking over and patting him on the back. “Though you took some heavy risks.”

He shook his head. “I’m not used to being this weak. It’s been very hard to adjust.”

Michael nodded.

“This… this was a good fight though. It was nice to have a good reason to raise my sword again. Even if it wasn’t for Stent.”

“This world’s bigger than Stent. You’ve barely seen any of it.”

He nodded, but didn’t answer, just looking over at the dead yeti.

“That fucking sucked,” said Marcus as he closed in, five rifles tucked under his arm.

“Says the guy who wasn’t anywhere close to the rest of us,” said Davi.

“You try hitting a bunch of moving targets that all look alike and are the same color as the ground around them while also making sure they don’t see you.”

“Easier than having to fight them while you’re close enough to smell their breath.”

Marcus looked at Michael. “You satisfied now? Your hero quota filled enough for your gods?”

“Well, I'll still have to help any cats in trees we find on the way back to the village, but I’m probably good for a day or two.”

“I know we’re joking around, but I swear to your fucking gods if that actually happens I’m shooting the cat.”

Michael laughed and after a few moments of making sure they had all their things together they started to make their way back to the village again. Everyone was tired, but the cold was quickly fading and that put a lot of pep in their step. The snow was already starting to melt after the first mile, and instead of a blasting cold wind, Michael could feel a warm breeze coming from the East. It wasn’t long before he was sweating in his armor, cloak, and new woolen clothes, but he found that he welcomed the sensation after having to deal with the bitter cold for so long.

“What do you think will happen to the yeti that survived?” asked Pyotr.

“Hopefully the heat will kill them,” said Davi. “Otherwise they’ll probably be a problem here for a long time.”

Michael considered that for a moment, wondering how many of the creatures in this new world had arrived this way. It was certainly preferable to how he’d arrived, though he had to wonder how a world's ecology could hold up to that much change. Maybe he’d meet some kind of taker biologist that could explain it to him. He imagined that most creatures that arrived died though, and that was probably what was best.

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

By the time they reached the village it was full of activity and they received a number of cheers and praises as they made their way to the village square. Ollie threw up some fireworks for the fun of it, and Francesca had to stop herself from running to Davi, though he didn’t stop at all to run over and scoop her up before twirling her around.

The ombudswoman walked up to Michael with her hands behind her back.

“Well. You lived. Good job.”

“You’re welcome.”

She sighed. “I suppose we’ll have to throw a small feast to thank you.”

“You don’t have to waste your supplies that way.”

“Without the cold, the lamb-meat from the ones we slaughtered won’t keep anyway. You’ll eat and stay the night.”

She left no room for argument, so Michael just shrugged. “If you insist.”

…

The feast didn’t begin until sundown. A large bonfire was built in the town square and tables and benches were dragged out of the Ombudswoman’s home to give everyone else a place to sit. There was singing, drinking that involved a very odd-tasting fermented milk, and dancing.

Pyotr taught a few of the younger people a few dance steps from his ballet days, and in spite of saying that the drink tasted like shit, he had a half dozen cups. Davi and Francesca ate and drank before shuffling off for a while and coming back looking disheveled, then repeated that process four or five more times. The first time they came back Michael and Marcus shared a wink. Ollie took requests for magic, creating more fireworks, cooling drinks, or even making some kids fly briefly. Michael and Lance on the other hand sat together and fought off the advances of nearly every young woman in the village and a handful of the men. Michael still wasn’t entirely used to the treatment he received now that he was handsome, but Lance handled it gracefully, as if he was used to politely declining advances.

“You know, I don’t think anyone would mind if you took a fair young maiden or two to bed,” said Michael doing his best to keep himself from wincing as he sipped on the fermented goat milk they’d been provided. “If anything, you’ll get a round of high fives.”

“I’m not in the mood… and I was taught not to just spill my seed anywhere I go.” he paused for a moment. “Why do you abstain?”

“These girls are too young for me and honestly,” he winced a bit. “They all smell terrible.”

Lance leaned in close, “In Stent we say that men in Svict prefer to sleep with goats because they smell better than the women and have better dispositions.”

“You talking about Kiwis?” asked Ollie sitting down next to them, his mug spilling a bit on the table as he did so. “They’ll make a sheep baaaa-eg for dear life.”

Michael shook his head. “I guess humans have the same jokes for shepherds everywhere.”

There was a loud sound of wood striking wood and they turned to see the Village Chief standing next to a table holding a small stave she’d used to draw their attention.

“It is time for the storyteller. Take your seats and your places.”

“Storyteller?” asked Ollie.

Lance nodded. “I’ve heard of this. Every village supposedly has a storyteller. There was nearly a war over a border dispute that killed one a decade or so ago.”

The chief handed the stave to a young man wearing a large sheepskin cloak over his head, a loincloth, and covered in blue tattoos of repeating geometric patterns. He held a hand to the bonfire and it shifted from a roaring orange and yellow, to a crackling green and giving off purple smoke. The smell of the air changed and Michael’s head seemed to start floating a bit. It took him to realize that whatever the storyteller had done to the smoke had a narcotic effect.

“This is the story of the Taker Prince,” said the storyteller, his voice deep and melodic. “In the time before the calamity, the land of Svict spread from Swandia through Tusinia, and was the jewel of Hume.” Some of the singers began to sing a low soothing hum that made Michael’s ears vibrate pleasantly. “The takers were a new thing then, an oddity that no one was sure of how to react to. Some were raised to great heights with offerings of new and powerful ideas. Others cursed for what they were as monsters. One taker was born to the emperor of Hume as his second son. He hid away what he was, and with his knowledge he quickly made himself a favorite of all those who met him.” One of the villagers wearing a smiling mask over his face moved in front of the storyteller and began to mime talking and laughing to each of them.

“While most secondborn sons were given territory far from the capital, this false prince was instead given Svict as his domain. At first, he treated those there with respect, and won many friends among the people there. He personally led the slaying of foul trolls, goblins, and other terrors from the land. His strength became legendary, and his renown grew across all of Hume.”

The storyteller paused dramatically, and the masked dancer switched his mask from a smiling one to one with harsh eyes and sharp teeth.

“This was all a lie though. In the night he would descend on villages. He would kill the men, ravage the women, and burn them to the ground. To him, nothing in our world was real, it was just a plaything for him to use for his own enjoyment.”

Several people appeared in plain masks and the man dressed as the false prince mimed horrible violence toward them. Michael and some of the others exchanged glances. It wasn’t hard to see how someone could go so wrong in this kind of circumstance. Michael’s certainty of his reality had been absolute since he’d arrived, but he could see others doubting theirs without much difficulty.

“He hid his crimes well, but eventually the deaths grew too many to hide and the tales of his depravity too elaborate. The king and his firstborn prince learned of the false Prince’s evil, and sought to take him into custody. He slew all who approached him, and cut his way through the countryside in a mad rampage. Even with many of his titles stripped from him, it took the first prince himself to stop him.”

Another man in a mask of nobility and holding a wooden sword appeared and there was a brief battle between the two of them. Eventually the new figure managed to win the battle and those masked people that had been ‘killed’ by the false prince stood and applauded for him.

“Svict was broken into pieces, and no Prince ever ruled it again. We learned our most valuable lesson then. Now, those murderers wearing the masks of babes, are dashed upon rocks. Their evil never to take hold in Svict again.” He gestured to a large stone just to the side of where everyone had gathered, one that Michael had not noticed before due to the snow, but the growing heat and the flame of the bonfire had exposed. The sight of it made him shudder.

The storyteller stayed still for a few moments before gesturing toward the flame behind him again, causing it to return to the bright orange it had been before.

The chief stood from her place and looked over everyone. “I want everyone to know I requested the damned story of the trickster and the buxom maiden.” She shook her head. “Eat, and drink, and pretend that’s the one that was said instead so we can actually celebrate.”

There was a light cheer and the festivities started anew.

Michael looked at Lance. “How many stories like that are there?” he asked.

Lance’s eyes darted away from his. “Every country has stories like that. I’ve heard that exact one before even, though it was a third prince and this whole land was called Stent. There’s reasons beyond what happens to the bodies who you-” he paused and looked around. “Who takers take. There are even some stories that say the cataclysm was caused by one.”

“Why weren’t we told?” asked Michael.

“I don’t know, but the focus of the Academy isn’t to teach history. It’s to teach war.”

Michael nodded and took a sip from his drink. It seemed that takers had even more to make up for than he’d thought. The prejudice had already made sense to him, but now it was even more clear how things had gotten to this level. They were boogeymen, creatures of myth from the past that could reach forward and take your child from you even today.