the sweltering disk

Endless snow stretched into forever all around one lone Elworthy. In the middle distance, subtle bumps and mounds broke through the fog like wrecked ships of rolling frost, and the sun struggled vainly to bathe in its rays the landscape, this monochrome hell of ice and turbid water, those frail beams just barely peeking through the veil of dull grey mist that froze his lungs and clouded his eyes. He was covered head-to-toe in everything he could put his hands on—heavy-duty boots, down pants, parka, shell gloves, balaclava, wool hat, and goggles, carried an overfull backpack, and dragged behind him a beaten-up sled with assorted supplies that wouldn't fit on the pack, but, most importantly, in the middle, held down with cord, a shivering, prone mass of fabric—his ill friend, poor Agbe.

Elworthy proceeded with unbefitting determination, in heavy steps, slow, measured; the pace of one consciously aware that every footfall, every breath was the wasting away of precious energy. He walked all the while envisioning his dead, frozen corpse in the snow, covered in expensive, branded gear, to be buried come the next storm, never to be found—but nonetheless he walked on borrowed faith. His friend had walked until he no longer could, he knew. He laid down only after much insistence and wasted spittle. Perhaps, he thought, perhaps he'd promised so much to the feverish man that he had started to feel as though he really would see those through.

The cold had for the past hour steadily dulled down that hope. Now, the sun shamefully retired beyond the sea, to no greater change in the sky's coloration; it was all a sad, grey, that would soon fade to a pitch black. “I am all alone,” he thought, “all alone now, and cold. Any minute now my legs will give out; I'll draw my last breath, and another foolish corpse will dot this wretched place.”

The air ran thinner by the minute. Elworthy was forced to turn on his headlamp by the encroaching darkness, stumbling onwards in the narrow cone of light. Shadows danced in the corner of his eyes, mocking, terrifying; Agbe trembled more, coughed, moaned subtly but to his ears unbearably gratingly.

His visions were beginning to grow more vivid, more tactile, when, suddenly, cresting over a hill, he stopped, the sled sliding to a halt at his feet.

He kept still, staring into the fog, adjusting his goggles. He blinked, wiped the lenses, shook his head, but still the image would persist, an impossible little spot at the center of his vision. Eventually, in near total disbelief, he realised that, indeed, despite all evidence, his eyes did not fool him: in the distance, shining faintly, was a tiny blemish of gleaming pale-yellow light.

He inched forwards, down the hill, then, slowly, his pace picked up, until he was running at a breakneck speed, the sled, once a burden, now as heavy as a paperclip in his hands, towards the circular spot of light, which grew from a pinprick of buff to a true focused beam, parting the smoke, like a lighthouse guiding him ashore.

He ran not really knowing what to expect. It could be a camp, it could be an errant glint of sunset off of a frozen lake. In his wildest dream, it was the research station. Agbe had wanted them to stay at camp, he remembered. This was my idea. To him, anything, anything at all would be a victory.

He was so preoccupied with these thoughts that he barely noticed when he'd arrived, and skidded to a halt as he nearly tripped over a smothered campfire. He looked around; beside it were a variety of spent supplies: an empty matchbook, a mug, red kettle, and yellow paper wrapped tin of tea, all in a labelled box, some toiletries, a lantern, and a pair of thick-sole bootees.

But most interesting of all, and what first caught his eye, was half-buried in the snow near the improvised camp: propped atop a small leather-bound journal was a stone disk, no larger than 20cm in diameter, engraved all over in intricately-chiseled patterns and grooves. Its back face was plain and uninteresting, but its front was what drew him, and terrified him—for from its front face emanated a positively blinding, logic-defying beam of pure light, as warm as the sun, as strong as a spotlight, shining a radiant, dangerous yellow.

It thoroughly marvelled him. He could point it anywhere, and the night, now having already fully replaced day, would be banished. The sheer power of the disk was enough for him to remove his goggles and roll his mask out of the way. His puffy red cheeks reflected off the polished backside. He stared, letting the beam out into the night like a sky tracker, bathing in the warmth of miraculous device.

How long he spent there, he did not know. Eventually, however, he was forcefully snapped out of his reverie by a groan, and he realised Agbe was still there. He huffed and swiftly sidled up to the side of the sled, which he had left near the old campfire, and placed the disk underneath the frame, pointing upwards. The effect was swift and immediate on the poor fellow, who stopped shivering.

Elworthy sighed, and sat beside his colleague. He was amazed by how the disk could warm them like a celestial body without melting through the plastic or, even as he inserted his ungloved hand directly into the light, burning them at all. “A miracle,” he thought out loud as he got to work setting up their tent for the night. “I have stumbled upon a miracle.”

With the tent was finished, and Agbe and the disk safely nestled inside, Elworthy went in, but not before running his eyes through the litter of the camp's previous occupant, and remembering the book he found the disk on top of. He quickly snagged it and, sealing himself in his sleeping bag, and Agbe in his, thumbed through the journal.

It appeared to be some manner of travelogue, though the pages were old and stained, and much of the text had been rendered impossible to read by either the nature of time or the occasional errant, furious scribbling. He thumbed through the volume as he slept...

...but sleep would not come to him.

To be continued... (soon!)

☹ FIN ☹