Encounters

The road has been long.

Victor's face bears long scratches from the weeks spent tearing through foliage in pursuit of his enemy.

You killed my brother. You killed my friend. You killed my wife.

His eyes alight upon another message, engraved upon a stone.

It's all your fault.

He tells himself this to keep his legs moving. He bought a horse, many, many days ago. It collapsed from exhaustion on the third day.

Not him, though.

The land has changed. The mountains are gone. The forests are gone. The ground is hard, frozen to its very depths by permafrost and ice. The few people he passes are shadows. They turn to watch him as he flies past in his pursuit. Their eyes are hollow.

When he is gone, they will not remember him.

And then the few settlements disappear, and the stunted trees fade away, and there is suddenly nothing but ice and snow for as far as Victor can see. The air bites at his neck, and he shivers despite himself, despite the burning in his legs because it's so cold.

The magnificent, endless plain that stretches out before and behind him inspires none of the joy such a sight might once have done. Victor scans the horizon, seeking his monster.

He sees nothing. There is no black speck in the distance. Nothing interrupts the flawless expanse, save his footprints as they trail away into nothingness.

Now it begins to snow, a cruel wind that tears through him and his thin clothes. His body is fatigued- it begs him to lie down.

Go on, lie down.

Just for an hour…

Just for a lifetime…

And he notices that, quite suddenly, there's someone else running beside him.

"Who're… you?"

The young man gives him a serene smile. He rides a chestnut horse with a flowing mane, effortlessly keeping pace with Victor's faltering steps. His hair is pale, his face is fair.

"Who are you?"

There is no snow caught in his hair. It dances around him like fireflies, but never touches his face.

"I'm… Victor," he pants the words out. Why did he hear no one approach? "Please, good sir- what country am I in?"

A calm reply. "You are in Russia."

"Russia…" murmurs Victor. It has always seemed so far away.

"Why are you in Russia, little running Victor?"

"I seek vengeance upon the foe who murdered my beloved," he tells the stranger.

"Why seek you in this place? There are no humans for leagues."

"It's not human," spits Victor.

They travel in silence for a long time, listening only to the wind as it howls past and the crunch crunch of Victor's feet moving through the snow. The horse makes no sound. Its hooves touch the ground but leave no mark. The young man regards Victor with an unreadable expression.

"There's anger in your chest, little son of Switzerland." Mildly.

Victor says nothing.

"This revenge you seek- will it bring you peace of mind?"

Victor makes a sound. It's not a cough, but it's not a laugh, either. "What good is a peaceful mind when all has been taken away from you, stranger? I expect nothing but an early grave."

The icy wind leaps down his throat. It hurts to breath.

"A fitting end. An anger that festers so deep can do nothing but destroy."

"What would you know about it?" Victor wishes the stranger would just leave him alone. Vanish back into the snow fire.

"Even as we speak, I feel this anger awakening deep within the hearts of my people. It will take them many, many years to understand it, still more to grasp it, but the roots twist deep into the soil and it will be long ere the scars disappear."

The young man lets out a low sigh. It mists in the cold. "I will not survive to see the end of this."

Victor mind is too dead for puzzles. "I will not be stopped."

"I had no belief that you would be." Quiet smile. "Go in peace, little Victor. Or in whatever state of mind you think this venture shall grant you." The young man tucks his scarf back under his chin and raises a hand in farewell.

"Wait," Victor begins, "Who-?"

There is only blizzard, and darkness.

Victor runs to death.