Ship of Fools - A Flat-Earth Interlude (4)

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Having left the security of their airplanes behind, Sam and Geraint approach a mysterious spot half a day’s march from the North Pole, guided only by Geraint’s dowsing stick.

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“OI! We’re getting close!”

Sam stirred from the ambulatory reverie he’d fallen into — no doubt a dissociative state brought on by the tedium of crossing this featureless expanse of ice and snow — nearly running into Geraint from behind. After hours of pointing straight ahead, the druid’s divining rod had taken on a decidedly downward tilt. Sam took this as a hopeful sign.

Once they’d surmounted that first pressure ridge, the ice pack had flattened out, broken only here and there by an ice sculpture of other-worldly blue. It made the walking easier, but he did wish they’d brought the skis after all. The whiteness stretched in all directions, the unrelenting plain of nothingness acting as an almost physical assault on his spirit. He wanted nothing more than to get to their destination, whatever it was, and get it over with.

At least the weather was cooperating, with clear skies, little breeze, and a weak, low-angled sun mitigating the worst of the damp cold.

“How far do you reckon now?”

“Hard to say. Let’s proceed with caution.”

After another hundred paces the hemlock stick angled down at more than forty-five degrees and Geraint stopped again. Yet the level snow still stretched into the distance.

“There’s nothing here,” Sam said.

“I wouldn’t be too sure of that.” Geraint unshouldered his pack and unstrapped the ice axe he’d lashed to the outside of it. Reaching as far forward with the axe as he could, he plunged the pointed end into the snow, meeting hard ice underneath. He repeated the action a dozen times more, casting back and forth and inching forward, occasionally pausing to check his direction with the dowsing rod.

At last the axe plunged into the snow up to its hilt.

“Aha!” Geraint hacked at the snow in front of him with the flat blade of the axe, causing the snow to slump downward. “There’s a gap here. Grab your snow shovel.”

Sam did as directed, and soon they’d excavated a trench leading downward into a crevasse with a foot of consolidated snow and ice for a roof. A blue glow came from deeper within, but Sam couldn’t see how the sunlight was reaching that deep into the grotto.

“What’s that?” Sam asked.

“We’ll see, we’ll see,” Geraint replied, sounding as if his mind was far off.

A smooth ramp sloped down into the crevasse, but Geraint insisted they rope up and set an ice axe belay. The druid led the way down, with Sam impatiently paying out the rope. He still couldn’t believe the forked stick had led them to something — undeniably something, though he had no idea what it was.

“Cor begorra!” Geraint exclaimed from deep below. The rope went slack, and Sam could just make out the top of Geraint’s hood haloed in a blue light.

“What is it?” he called.

“Come on down! You have to see this for yourself.”

Leaving the ice axe behind as a belay point, Sam stepped gingerly down the ramp, Geraint gradually coming into view as he descended. The druid was belaying him, but hardly paying attention to the task, he was gazing so intently at the ice wall in front of him.

Or no, not the ice wall, but a rectangle of blue, shimmering light. It gave Geraint’s face an eerie glow and illuminated the cave-like crevasse.

“What is it?” he asked, stepping up to stand next to the druid.

“The portal to the Land of Faerie, of course - Tír na nÓg, the Land of Youth.” He reached out a finger, then drew it back.

“So this will take us to the South Pole?” Sam asked. “Let’s go!”

He was about to step into the portal, but Geraint restrained him with a hand on his chest.

“Now just a minute, laddie. There are rules to remember when visiting the land of the Fair Folk. First, we need to bring our packs. I’ve already told you, we cannot eat the food of the fey. Second, we cannot stay long, because time passes more slowly there. What seems like three days there is really three hundred on this side.”

Sam blanched. He hadn’t known about this limitation on their travels. How would they get home if they returned to find the planes had already left?

“Anything else?” he asked impatiently.

“If we do meet the Sidhe, make them no promises. If they ask a favor, find out what it is before agreeing to it. Otherwise you might be giving up your firstborn, your wife, or worse.”

As he had neither, Sam wasn’t worried. “What else?”

“Let me think. There will be stories, many stories. If we’re asked for Four Truths, best let me do the talking.”

Just then the blue light shimmered more intensely, and a dim figure appeared within. Geraint took a step back, pulling Sam with him.

The figure grew more distinct until a small Asian man stepped out of the portal. He was dressed for polar weather, though his down suit seemed more compact than their own. On his shaved head he wore a woolen beanie with the words “Black Diamond” emblazoned on the front.

“Are you the one I’ve sensed on the other side?” Geraint asked. “I thought you’d be one of the Aos Sidhe, but you don’t seem tall enough. But neither are you as short as a korrigan.” He turned to Sam. “If it turns out he’s a goblin, run like the devil’s after you.”

The newcomer had taken a moment to get his bearings. Now he put his palms together and bowed deeply. Straightening, he smiled. “I am Dawa Tenzing. I have come from the South Pole.”

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What do you think about how these two portals could be connected? Let me know in the comments!

Next up: Part IV, Passages, begins with Chapter 38, “A Serious Woman,” in which Slim continues to bungle his new detective job at the Tranquility Lunar Base.