Fields of Ice

[Dr. McNinja]

Mack twitched nervously. He was reluctant to keep pushing. But dwarves are not known for their tact.

"Lis'n here, lass," the dwarf grumbled, "Ah dinnae ken wha' McUlfarsson gabbed abou', bu-"

"I just need a moment," Kushi shivered.

"Bu' the aurora comes ou' tonight and ah though' ye'd want tah come," Mack continued, "In the main square. Trust me. It'd be worth yer while."

Mack pointed a thumb at the storage.

"Ah triple-checked it so ye dinnae need tah worry."

The dwarf grabbed his pack and stepped outside. "An' bring yer mat!"

Mack walked down towards the square. There was a general hustle by the square, several campfires being formed for the event. Kushi was still disturbed by the revelation about dwarven burial rites. In fact, she was so disturbed it never occurred to her that auroras were quite common in a place as snowy as the Fields.

It would only be a few short hours before the sun set, and the dwarves of Outer Dwarfholm had started drinking. The campfires in the frozen cobblestone resembled a thousand tiny stars warming the square. This was on purpose, as Kushi would later find out.

When the Nipponese human arrived, it was painfully obvious to her she did not belong here. Such a monstrous thing to do, to destroy a body in such a violent way...

"Gahaha!" Mack howled, "yer here!"

As the dwarf waddled over, Kushi felt her spirit jade over at the sight of someone she once considered a friend.

"You're drunk," Kushi muttered.

"These are good times, lass," Mack explained, "The gods are happy with us tonigh'. The walls are openin', they are."

"Walls?" Kushi asked.

Before Mack could answer, the other dwarves in the square started howling manically. Mack hooted excitedly with them.

"Git yer buttocks over here! It's startin'!"

Mack yanked Kushi's arm towards one of the campfires. There were about thirty dwarves huddle around this one, all gulping thirstily at their ale. Mack tripped on the ice, spilling beer all over his beard. All of the dwarves howled in laughter, and even Mack, whose pride usually did not handle insult well, grinned sheepishly. Kushi unrolled her mat pensively and kneeled on it formally.

"Who's this?" a nearby celebrator shouted.

"Friend o'mine!" Mack howled in response. Kushi blinked.

"McMicksson-san is exaggerating," the woman coldly interrupted, "we are acquaintances."

Mack glanced at her, his smile hiding his hurt. The dwarf on the other side of Kushi clapped her shoulder.

"Ahhh, dinnae be li'ah', lass, this is a happy day!"

"Someone died two days ago," Kushi snapped.

The atmosphere became a little dampened. Mack cleared his throat.

"She's new in town," the dwarf said, "She dinnae ken our ways."

The other dwarves stared at her expectantly. One dwarf dropped their beer, and everyone laughed at him. The jovial atmosphere returned and Mack glanced at Kushi.

"S'not like ye tah be a rude dolt," the dwarf hissed angrily.

Kushi blinked away her shame. "My apologies, McMicksson-san. I'm just upset about something."

"Ah know why yer upse'," Mack grumbled.

Kushi looked at him. "You do?"

"Yer nervous bou' openin' the bar," Mack said, as if he was making a clever deduction, "Cold feet or somethin' li'."

Kushi turned, relieved but also disappointed. "I suppose."

"So ah wanted tah show ye why ye shouldn't be nervous."

The aurora flashed, and thunder rang throughout the city, purple and green lights swirling in a display of colors. Kushi felt abnormally calm all of a sudden. And it wasn't just her - all of the dwarves in the square had suddenly gone quiet.

A bolt of light, almost like a shooting star, streaked from the aurora. It descended straight towards the campfires. Upon making contact, the fire blazed upwards and the color changed to purple. Kushi stared, alarmed, not only by the turn of events but how calm the dwarves seemed about it.

Suddenly, a spectral figure stepped out from the fire. He had the appearance of a dwarf, down to the apparel, but his face lacked the misery and stubbornness of the other dwarves Kushi had seen. It was almost what one would expect if a dwarf somehow decided to no longer live in freezing places.

One of the dwarves - a normal, constantly angry one - beckoned her to him. "Da..!"

The father turned around. The look of peace on his face turned to exasperation.

"Oy, ye no-good git! Can't even extract me properly, is tha' it?"

The living dwarf frowned. "Oh, fer- why did ah think ye'd be nicer yer one ni' here?"

"Took ye in since ye were a wean and this is how ye treat me?"

"Da, shut yer gob..."

A dozen more spectral dwarves stepped out of the fire, searching for living members. They sought each other out,

Kushi turned to Mack in terror. "McMicksson-san, what is that? Are those youkai?"

"A wha'?"

"A..." Kushi grimaced as she paused to think of a translation. "A spirit."

"Hold on, has no one explained wha' happens 'ere? This must be very confusin' for ye."

Kushi shook her head. Mack shook his head.

"Er, alri'... sooo when we dwarves kick the bucke', our family destroys the body in some way. Used tah burn it, bu' we've taken tah leavin' it fer extractin'."

"I've heard," Kushi replied, mourning the trapped dwarven spirits in front of her.

"We do tha' so their spirits can be free from their bodies. It's well heavy, a body is."

"But how can they reincarnate if their bodies are destroyed along with their soul?"

"Reincarnate?" Mack chuckled. "Why'd ye want tah do tha'?"

Kushi frowned. "Excuse me?"

"It's always freezin' doon here," Mack snorted, "an' the food is expensive."

"An' the ale is shite!" one of the dwarves howled with glee.

"But up there..." Mack's voice quivered. "If ye die with honor and identity... ye go tah the Hall of Warriors."

Kushi paused pensively. "Is that where your wife is?"

The other dwarves shuffled uncomfortably. It was incredibly insulting to imply any loved one was anywhere besides Valhalla. Mack waved it off.

"She di'in't have a beard, but she passed with honor," Mack grumbled, "Ah hafta believe she's there, waitin' fer me."

The nosy dwarf who didn't like the ale of the living world leaned in. "Of course, ye hafta destroy the body somehow."

"Shut yer gob, Urist. Naebody asked ye."

Kushi watched as another dozen spirits rose from the fire. "But McUlfarsson's brother... you never recovered his body."

"The gods also accept the head of whoever killed the dwarf," Mack shrugged, "Damn near encourages it when the killer's nae dwarfish."

The fire pulsed, and another spirit exited the crack. Urist McUlfarsson stood up.

"Oy, ye daftie," the trader shouted, tears clenching his throat, "Yer late. Ahm over here."

The spirit formed completely and turned towards Urist. He crossed his arms in frustration.

"Ahm dead?"

"Aye."

"Well, shite. Ye got the troll head?"

"The buyer did," Urist replied, pointing at Mack.

Mack bowed. "Ye must be Mack McUlfarsson. My name is Mack McMicksson."

"Thank ye, Mr. McMicksson, for purifyin' me spirit," McUlfarsson bowed in reply.

Kushi made a silent comment about how almost every dwarf she met was named either Urist or Mack as the two trader brothers clapped hands and grabbed shoulders.

"Ah'll miss ye, brother."

"And me you."

Mack McUlfarsson looked back at the fire. "Git up there righ' fast, Urist. Ah can only keep the ale warm fer so long."

Urist laughed sadly. "Shut up, ye goblin-lover."

Lightning flashed across the chasm in the sky and the purple tint flickered. The dwarven spirits all groaned as if their parents were telling them to come down for dinner.

"Ah gotta go, pal," Mack McUlfarsson said. He patted Urist on the shoulder before being drained into the fire like liquid does in a funnel. The spirits were all sucked into the column of light. As the last dwarf reentered the ethereal stream, the fire became warm yellow again.

Kushi wiped her eyes. There were no tears yet, but they were near.

"Thing o'beauty, innit?" Mack grinned, "S'called the Thunder Night, cos o'tha way they come and go. Only happens once every ten years."

The dwarf pointed at their companions. They all had faces of serenity, and the square held a kind of warmth the town never felt before. After all, legend said every Night of Thunder feels warmer than the one before. The gates to Valhalla grew wider every decade, perhaps. Mack smiled gently.

"Ye'll never see the calmness ye see on any dwarves unless Valhalla's openin'," Mack proudly reported, "that's wha' ah useta think."

Kushi licked her lips. She felt it too. "Used to?"

"Then ah tried yer sacky," Mack continued, "and if ye don't mind me sayin', when ah think abou' makin' tha' brew and how calm it makes me, ah feel like I'm drinking wee teaspoons of Thunder Nigh'."

Kushi thought about the dwarven afterlife. She thought about how reincarnation was actually bad here. She thought about her home and her own spiritual experiences, and compared it to Thunder Night. She thought about the name of their bar and how Mack insisted on it.

"I thought dwarves didn't like metaphors."

"Eh?" Mack reacted.

"Nothing," Kushi said.

Mack shrugged and nodded. "So. Me poin' is, be more confident in yer brew. It's good stuff. Makes us dwarves feel all spiritual-li'."

Mack searched Kushi's face for a reaction.
He quickly realized what Kushi had said earlier about how McUlfarsson told her about the dead, and how taking her to Thunder Night was possibly a terrible idea.