Anyway, I think that's enough of an introduction. I shall let Jack's writing speak for itself.
...
The floor of the Athabasca Valley, despite appearing flat and easily traversed, has proven far too boggy for the weight of the Angel and the wagon. I believe this to be, in part, an issue of weight distribution, potentially addressed with additional, wider wheels. Lacking the time or materials to make the necessary modifications, however, I am now travelling along the wooded fringe of the valley base. The small trees present less of an obstacle than the soft terrain of the valley centre, but the boulders which fall periodically from the cliffs above are quite the inconvenience. By good fortune, nothing has been struck.
...
I have come across the toe of a great glacier. Based on the relative position of the mountains, I believe that it descends from a great central icefield. If so, it may well feed all the glaciers that carved the valleys of this region. Since this would be invaluable in mapping the local area, I intend to ascend in the morning, and seek connecting pathways across the ice to other valleys. I have made camp at the base of the glacier, and shall seek a route to the top on the morrow.
...
Strange events during the night. I was roused in the early hours by a flash bright enough to wake me even through the heavy canvas of my tent. When I emerged, mere moments later, there was no indication of what had caused such tremendous illumination. As I stood by the boiler of the Angel, debating whether to take further action or return to sleep, a tremendous wind roared down the glacier in to the valley below. I know not what it was, but some property of that wind set a tremendous panic upon me. I very nearly ran heedless in to the night, but stumbled and caught the Angel's steamwhistle as I turned. That glorious, brassy note sang in to the night, and quite restored my senses. Considering which, it would seem there may be a steam retention issue. Else, I should refrain from keeping the boiler stoked for warmth overnight until I have improved the safety valves.
This time, however, the flaw served me well. It may even have saved my life. How far I may have fled in to the cold and dark I cannot guess, had it not been for the reassuring sound of steam and metal.
Perhaps this terrifying sound was some manifestation of the wind through the mountains and valley, creating strange sounds and vibrations that touch some primal nerve in the human heart. Perhaps it is something else. Possibly connected to that tremendous flash. In any case, I intend to seek the source of this mystery upon the glacier.
...
The ascent has progressed without undue difficulty. I have left the Brazen Angel and the wagon at the toe of the glacier, and proceeded on foot with all necessary climbing and camping gear. Currently at the base of a formation that almost resembles an enormous set of steps, albeit warped and sloped. After this last ascent, I should have gained the heights of the central icefield.
...
This is a place of remarkable beauty. Smooth white snow stretches in all directions over the rich blue ice of the glacier itself. The peaks of the surrounding mountains jut up all around. It feels as though one is stood in the ruins of some great pillared rotunda, or perhaps upon the crown of a giant coronet, stretching almost from one horizon to the other. Judging from the angles of the glaciers, I suspect that this icefield flows in to both the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans. This is a truly remarkable location.
At present, there is no indication of what could have caused the flash of light last night, or any sign of strange rock or ice formations which may have caused the strange and terrible howling wind of last night. The size of this icefield may require several days to explore and examine properly. I have food and supplies for 3 days or so, and there is ample meltwater and snow for drinking. I shall have to return with assistants and geological survey equipment.
...
The snow makes travel a little slow. As much as I am tempted to explore the perimeter, I do not have the time. I shall simply progress as far in to the centre of the field as I can, before making my return. The ice creaks and groans underfoot. A haze of snow has reduced visibility to a dozen feet or so. Combined with the strange noises in the wind, it creates a singularly otherworldly atmosphere. This is a place deep in the grip of Winter. I must be cautious with any experiments I conduct.
...
Night is falling. I have made camp, and taken some basic atmospheric and aetheric readings. This is definitely a Thin Place. I may forgo further exploration until I can return better equipped. We shall see what the night brings.
...
This has been a remarkable night. I can scarce believe the events that transpired, or that I survived them.
I had risen during the night and noticed through the snow, back in the direction of the glacier, a strange orange glow. It flew toward the icefield at some speed, and what must have been a considerable height, in order to be visible from the icefield. As I watched, it reached the crest of the glacier and burst in a tremendous flash of light and heat. The energy from this detonation spread out as though it had struck some invisible curved wall at the edge of the icefield. Sudden illumination behind me caused me to turn, and I witnessed a similar event at the top of the other 5 glaciers in rapid succession. I believe this must be the cause of the flash which woke me last night.
The strange events did not stop there. There was what I can only describe as an indrawing of breath, a great gathering of air to the centre of the icefield. I felt myself drawn onward with that great inhalation, as though the very air in my lungs were summoned to the centre of that icy plateau. Anticipating what was to follow, I instead dived back to my tent, and the equipment I had brought for this event. Sure enough, moments later, that same feezing howling wind from the night before roared out from the centre of the icefield. Even as the moon, barely visible through the snow, seemed to dim in the face of the horror of the unearthly howl of that wind, the phosphorus flare I had brought with me roared in to flame. As with the steam whistle of the Brazen Angel, the sound and fury of the flare dulled the dread of the dark and cold, enough to save me from headlong flight. I had turned my face away from the biting wind and the light of the flare.
When the wind began to calm, I glanced back over my shoulder, shielding my eyes from the light of the flare. The great out-rushing wind had parted the veil of snow, and for the moment before it returned, I saw something truly remarkable. A tremendous palace of deep blue ice, taller than the surrounding mountain peaks. Ornate spires, turrets, and buttresses stretched up in to the night sky, in cruel, sharp curves. Pale blue lights gleamed from the windows. As quickly as it had appeared, it was gone again, concealed by a cloak of snow, and I was left alone with only my guttering flare for company.
I began packing up my equipment, determined to make it off the icefield and if possible back to the camp at the base of the glacier. The fear of falling in to a crevasse was nought compared to my fear of whatever lay in that dread castle. Moments later, I heard a strange, high note, clear and cold and utterly terrifying. By some instinct, I was certain it was a hunting horn, ancient and cruel, from those primeval days when it was not man that hunted beasts, but other things that hunted man. I took what equipment I had packed already, seized what I could carry and ran.
The flight that followed was one of the greatest ordeals of my life. The ice creaked and cracked beneath my feet as I ran. Wind and snow whipped at my face, now blowing up the glacier, as though trying to push me back toward the icefield. Even the darkness seemed to cling to my limbs to hold me back. As I glanced behind me, I was sure that I saw movement. Human shapes, but seeming to be made of glacial ice, advancing down the glacier behind me.
Reaching in to my pockets, I scattered iron filings and shot in to the snow behind me, hoping that iron would be bane to my pursuers, as it is to so many beings of the aethereal realms. Some time later, I heard that strange, cold horn call again. I pressed on for hours, through the dark and cold, dropping iron behind me, and timing the shouts and horn calls behind me to track my pursuers as they closed. They were swift, far swifter than I, but the distance from my camp to the centre of that great plateau had given me quite a start. But as I neared the base of the glacier, it seemed that they were mere minutes behind me. Having spent the day climbing the glacier, and the night fleeing back down it, I was almost spent. Finally, I saw my first camp, and the Brazen Angel before me, in the pale light before sunrise. Even as I stumbled towards it, I knew that I could go no further. With a final effort, I hauled myself forward, slumped against the side of the Angel, and turned to face my pursuers.
A nightmare figure emerged from a swirl of snow and shadow. Taller than a man, of slender build, and clad in armour of blue-black ice, or perhaps some strange crystal, and holding a cruel, curved blade of the same material. The face was sharp, and finely featured, with dark inhuman eyes of pure black, framed by long black hair. Around his waist hung a belt of trophies. Eyes, ears, tounges, and jaws. The dread figure stepped toward me, confident and contemptuous. I raised my blunderbuss, the last item I had snatched from my campsite as I fled, tore off the cover that I used to keep the powder dry, and fired a full charge of iron shot in to the thing from no more than 10 feet away. I must confess that in my fear, I closed my eyes as I fired.
I do not know what happened when my shot struck that fearful apparition. But the sudden bite of a cold blade that I expected never came. When I opened my eyes again, the figure was gone. Not dead, for there was neither blood nor body- simply gone. The sun had risen, and the snow begun to ease. I do not yet comprehend these events. I shall review my notes once I have rested, and retreated to a safe distance.
...
My hand is shaking terribly as I write this, even in the relative safety of the trading post. Having re-read my notes, and reviewed the results of the readings I took on the glacier, I believe that last night I was caught in a skirmish between the Seelie and Unseelie, the fairies of Summer and Winter. That I survived is nothing short of miraculous. If I continue to do so, in the face of vengeful Winter fae, it will be doubly so. I can only pray that my involvement in whatever happened on that glacier is seen as incidental, or better yet forgotten. Only time will tell.
I have just opened the pack of supplies I brought with me from the glacier, that had been exposed to the flash of light that occurred when the sphere of summer fire struck the shield of winter. The bag and most of the food inside is unaffected, but all of the meat, a pack of bacon and a few sausages, is quite cooked. I do not know what sort of energy could do this, but I am glad that I was not stood closer.
...
Perhaps this terrifying sound was some manifestation of the wind through the mountains and valley, creating strange sounds and vibrations that touch some primal nerve in the human heart. Perhaps it is something else. Possibly connected to that tremendous flash. In any case, I intend to seek the source of this mystery upon the glacier.
...
The ascent has progressed without undue difficulty. I have left the Brazen Angel and the wagon at the toe of the glacier, and proceeded on foot with all necessary climbing and camping gear. Currently at the base of a formation that almost resembles an enormous set of steps, albeit warped and sloped. After this last ascent, I should have gained the heights of the central icefield.
...
This is a place of remarkable beauty. Smooth white snow stretches in all directions over the rich blue ice of the glacier itself. The peaks of the surrounding mountains jut up all around. It feels as though one is stood in the ruins of some great pillared rotunda, or perhaps upon the crown of a giant coronet, stretching almost from one horizon to the other. Judging from the angles of the glaciers, I suspect that this icefield flows in to both the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans. This is a truly remarkable location.
At present, there is no indication of what could have caused the flash of light last night, or any sign of strange rock or ice formations which may have caused the strange and terrible howling wind of last night. The size of this icefield may require several days to explore and examine properly. I have food and supplies for 3 days or so, and there is ample meltwater and snow for drinking. I shall have to return with assistants and geological survey equipment.
...
The snow makes travel a little slow. As much as I am tempted to explore the perimeter, I do not have the time. I shall simply progress as far in to the centre of the field as I can, before making my return. The ice creaks and groans underfoot. A haze of snow has reduced visibility to a dozen feet or so. Combined with the strange noises in the wind, it creates a singularly otherworldly atmosphere. This is a place deep in the grip of Winter. I must be cautious with any experiments I conduct.
...
Night is falling. I have made camp, and taken some basic atmospheric and aetheric readings. This is definitely a Thin Place. I may forgo further exploration until I can return better equipped. We shall see what the night brings.
...
This has been a remarkable night. I can scarce believe the events that transpired, or that I survived them.
I had risen during the night and noticed through the snow, back in the direction of the glacier, a strange orange glow. It flew toward the icefield at some speed, and what must have been a considerable height, in order to be visible from the icefield. As I watched, it reached the crest of the glacier and burst in a tremendous flash of light and heat. The energy from this detonation spread out as though it had struck some invisible curved wall at the edge of the icefield. Sudden illumination behind me caused me to turn, and I witnessed a similar event at the top of the other 5 glaciers in rapid succession. I believe this must be the cause of the flash which woke me last night.
The strange events did not stop there. There was what I can only describe as an indrawing of breath, a great gathering of air to the centre of the icefield. I felt myself drawn onward with that great inhalation, as though the very air in my lungs were summoned to the centre of that icy plateau. Anticipating what was to follow, I instead dived back to my tent, and the equipment I had brought for this event. Sure enough, moments later, that same feezing howling wind from the night before roared out from the centre of the icefield. Even as the moon, barely visible through the snow, seemed to dim in the face of the horror of the unearthly howl of that wind, the phosphorus flare I had brought with me roared in to flame. As with the steam whistle of the Brazen Angel, the sound and fury of the flare dulled the dread of the dark and cold, enough to save me from headlong flight. I had turned my face away from the biting wind and the light of the flare.
When the wind began to calm, I glanced back over my shoulder, shielding my eyes from the light of the flare. The great out-rushing wind had parted the veil of snow, and for the moment before it returned, I saw something truly remarkable. A tremendous palace of deep blue ice, taller than the surrounding mountain peaks. Ornate spires, turrets, and buttresses stretched up in to the night sky, in cruel, sharp curves. Pale blue lights gleamed from the windows. As quickly as it had appeared, it was gone again, concealed by a cloak of snow, and I was left alone with only my guttering flare for company.
I began packing up my equipment, determined to make it off the icefield and if possible back to the camp at the base of the glacier. The fear of falling in to a crevasse was nought compared to my fear of whatever lay in that dread castle. Moments later, I heard a strange, high note, clear and cold and utterly terrifying. By some instinct, I was certain it was a hunting horn, ancient and cruel, from those primeval days when it was not man that hunted beasts, but other things that hunted man. I took what equipment I had packed already, seized what I could carry and ran.
The flight that followed was one of the greatest ordeals of my life. The ice creaked and cracked beneath my feet as I ran. Wind and snow whipped at my face, now blowing up the glacier, as though trying to push me back toward the icefield. Even the darkness seemed to cling to my limbs to hold me back. As I glanced behind me, I was sure that I saw movement. Human shapes, but seeming to be made of glacial ice, advancing down the glacier behind me.
Reaching in to my pockets, I scattered iron filings and shot in to the snow behind me, hoping that iron would be bane to my pursuers, as it is to so many beings of the aethereal realms. Some time later, I heard that strange, cold horn call again. I pressed on for hours, through the dark and cold, dropping iron behind me, and timing the shouts and horn calls behind me to track my pursuers as they closed. They were swift, far swifter than I, but the distance from my camp to the centre of that great plateau had given me quite a start. But as I neared the base of the glacier, it seemed that they were mere minutes behind me. Having spent the day climbing the glacier, and the night fleeing back down it, I was almost spent. Finally, I saw my first camp, and the Brazen Angel before me, in the pale light before sunrise. Even as I stumbled towards it, I knew that I could go no further. With a final effort, I hauled myself forward, slumped against the side of the Angel, and turned to face my pursuers.
A nightmare figure emerged from a swirl of snow and shadow. Taller than a man, of slender build, and clad in armour of blue-black ice, or perhaps some strange crystal, and holding a cruel, curved blade of the same material. The face was sharp, and finely featured, with dark inhuman eyes of pure black, framed by long black hair. Around his waist hung a belt of trophies. Eyes, ears, tounges, and jaws. The dread figure stepped toward me, confident and contemptuous. I raised my blunderbuss, the last item I had snatched from my campsite as I fled, tore off the cover that I used to keep the powder dry, and fired a full charge of iron shot in to the thing from no more than 10 feet away. I must confess that in my fear, I closed my eyes as I fired.
I do not know what happened when my shot struck that fearful apparition. But the sudden bite of a cold blade that I expected never came. When I opened my eyes again, the figure was gone. Not dead, for there was neither blood nor body- simply gone. The sun had risen, and the snow begun to ease. I do not yet comprehend these events. I shall review my notes once I have rested, and retreated to a safe distance.
...
My hand is shaking terribly as I write this, even in the relative safety of the trading post. Having re-read my notes, and reviewed the results of the readings I took on the glacier, I believe that last night I was caught in a skirmish between the Seelie and Unseelie, the fairies of Summer and Winter. That I survived is nothing short of miraculous. If I continue to do so, in the face of vengeful Winter fae, it will be doubly so. I can only pray that my involvement in whatever happened on that glacier is seen as incidental, or better yet forgotten. Only time will tell.
I have just opened the pack of supplies I brought with me from the glacier, that had been exposed to the flash of light that occurred when the sphere of summer fire struck the shield of winter. The bag and most of the food inside is unaffected, but all of the meat, a pack of bacon and a few sausages, is quite cooked. I do not know what sort of energy could do this, but I am glad that I was not stood closer.
...
So there we have it. Once again, I think Uncle Jack's chemical indulgences are somewhat on display here, but it's an interesting read nonetheless.
