As the snow swirled furiously around him, Holzoff gazed down at the blond, spiky-haired young man and his two companions, passed out on the ice. It had been several months since he had saved anyone from the unforgiving cold of the Great Glacier, and he'd make sure this latest group of travelers would be properly taken care of and warned about the dangers of Gaea's Cliff, should that be their destination. He went to work, dragging the three onto his sled and wrapping them securely in blankets and pelts before setting off for the place he called home for the past twenty years, a small cabin not far from the fiercest winds and most biting cold on the Planet.
           With his sled's rope slung across his shoulder, he pulled the three travelers northward, staring at the monstrous precipice in the distance the entire time. Gaea's Cliff was his obsession; a mountain climber's ultimate challenge, it was also the site of one of his most painful memories. It is this memory which drove him to live here in this forbidding place to begin with, an incident which took place roughly thirty years ago.

*****

           When he first arrived in Icicle Inn, he was a young man in his late twenties, but had already climbed most of the world's celebrated mountains. From the Midgar range to the craggy peaks of Nibelheim, to even the distant mountains of Wutai, he had seen just about everything, but one challenge yet remained: Gaea's Cliff. He'd first heard about it while visiting Cosmo Canyon: a gigantic crater at the world's northernmost point, with a steep rim that no man had ever successfully scaled. Holzoff set out to be the first.
           Icicle Inn was a small but bustling resort town, and the lodge after which it was named was a known destination for adventurers and winter sports enthusiasts of all sorts. After booking a room, Holzoff headed to the pub in the basement with the aim of getting both a beer and information about the cliff. Scattered about the bar were a few cross-country skiers, a young family, and not many others. Holzoff sighed; he had hoped to see some fellow mountain climbers, but at the same time, he was pleased by the apparent lack of competition. As he took a stool, the young woman behind the bar asked for his order.
           "Eh, just give me a pint of whatever you like, as long as it tastes good and isn't too pricy."
           "Sure thing," she replied, and poured him a glass of amber-colored ale. "Haven't seen you around here before. Just get into town?"
           "Yeah, but I guess you see a lot of different people every day. Vacationers and such."
           "Mmm-hmm. The locals tend to drop by in the evenings, but during the day, I do see a lot of visitors. Are you here on vacation yourself?"
           Holzoff shook his head as he took a sip. Setting his glass down, he replied. "My hobby is mountain climbing. I heard about a sheer cliff in these parts which many have tried to climb, only to fail. I aim to be the first to make it to the top, and see with my own eyes what lies beyond."
           For the first time since he had entered the bar, the woman frowned. She smoothed back her long brown hair with one hand. "So you're here to challenge Gaea's Cliff."
           "Yeah. Is there something wrong with that?"
           "It's a place that has remained untouched by man for the past two thousand years, a place of great tragedy. I won't tell you not to go, but just be warned that the Planet might not be as permissive."
           "Is that so?"
           This new voice came from Holzoff's left. A newcomer had entered the room, a man who looked to be about the same age as Holzoff. His build, clothing, and overall manner in which he carried himself seemed to suggest that he wasn't a skier or ice skater like the other customers. Holzoff narrowed his eyes at the man as he sat down on the adjacent stool and ordered a stout.
           "You planning on climbing Gaea's Cliff, friend?" the man asked Holzoff.
           "What of it?"
           "I think you should pack it in and go home. I'm aiming to be the first to conquer the cliff, and I can't afford to worry about my competition."
           Holzoff gritted his teeth. "What the hell do you mean by that?"
           "You've heard the stories, right? About those who challenged the cliff, only to never return?"
           "And what makes you think you're good enough to scale it?"
           "You mean, what makes me think I'm better than you?"
           Holzoff had heard enough. He got off his stool and pulled back his fist, ready to slug this bastard, but as he thrust his arm forward, the man dodged, leaving Holzoff stumbling forward like an idiot. Just about everyone in the bar was now watching them. The newcomer, now on his feet as well, took a long draught from his glass and grinned. "Well, maybe a little competition will be interesting. I look forward to beating you to the top of the cliff. By the way, the name's Yamski—remember it, 'cause you'll be seeing it in all the papers by the middle of next week."
           "Who the hell asked you for your name, dipshit?" Holzoff snapped, but the laughing Yamski was already on his way back upstairs.

           Holzoff woke up early the next morning, eager to get started on his journey to the Great Glacier at the crack of dawn. He dressed in his warmest clothes, then packed all of his gear and headed down to the pub for a hearty breakfast. Once he had finished, he checked out of his room. The man at the front desk yawned and told him that another hiker had stayed at the inn overnight, and had departed about an hour ago. This was the last bit of news Holzoff had wanted to hear at five in the morning, and he left the inn with a frown and a newfound sense of determination.
           For the first leg of his trip, Holzoff had to ski down the long, narrow incline that led to the edge of the Great Glacier. Fortunately, though he was not the most seasoned of skiers, he managed to get downhill without too many problems. By this time, the sun was high in the sky, but there was still a tremendous amount of turf to cover before reaching even just the base of the cliff. Holzoff pressed on, walking through forests of evergreens and carefully traversing entire passages of ice, eventually coming to a large, open field of snow. In the middle of the field stood a lone pine tree. He began walking toward it, hoping to use it as cover from the wind while he rested his feet and dug into a well-deserved lunch. However, along the way, he nearly stumbled upon something. It was a hiker, lying face-down in the slow. He kneeled down and pushed the body, but once he got a look at the hiker's face, he backed off. It was Yamski.
           Holzoff stared at the pathetic Yamski as the snow whipped around them. Finally, he shook his head and dragged him over to the tree. With some help from his Cure and Heal materia, Holzoff managed to stir Yamski into consciousness. "You're a pathetic excuse for a mountain climber," Holzoff said, disgust dripping off his words. "I mean, passing out before you even get to the damned cliff? Looks like your boasting was a bit premature, eh?"
           "Guess I wasn't as ready for the cold as I thought I would be," Yamski replied, his voice sporting none of the confidence from the previous day. He stared at Holzoff's thermos, from which the latter was drinking hot coffee he'd had the pub prepare for him. "That smells good. Would you be willing to give me some? Please?"
           "You don't have anything hot to drink on you? You're a bigger idiot than I thought."
           "Drank it all already. Besides, I'd heard there were hot springs around here. I was going to find them and use them to help refill my tea flask."
           "Unbelievable," Holzoff replied, shaking his head. He poured some coffee in a cup and handed it to Yamski, less out of kindness than pity. "Tell me something: how many mountains have you climbed before?"
           Yamski sighed. "Two."
           "Two? That's it? Which two?"
           "Mt. Corel and Da-Chao."
           Holzoff stared at him, trying his best to stifle his laughter and failing horribly. "What's so damned funny?" Yamski asked.
           "Mt. Corel and Da-Chao?" Holzoff replied. "Are you fucking kidding me? Those are the only two mountains you've ever climbed? You've never tackled real peaks like Mt. Zolom in the Midgar Mountains, or Leviathan's Stair in Wutai, or even Mt. Nibel? And you think you can take on Gaea's Cliff? You're a bigger moron than I thought."
           Yamski glared at Holzoff. "And what about you, huh? Have you climbed all those mountains?"
           "Yeah, and more besides. The cliff is one of the few that I haven't. Look, once you're done drinking my coffee, do us both a favor and go back to Icicle Inn. You clearly aren't cut out for this journey, and I'd hate to see an inexperienced climber like you wind up dead because of his own naiveté."
           "Whatever," Yamski replied. "I still think you can't handle the competition."
           "Suit yourself," said Holzoff. He stood up and took a look around him, knowing that he should be on the move again. He dug around in his right jacket pocket for his compass, but was startled to find that it wasn't there. He began checking his other pockets, growing ever more frantic with each new search.
           "Something wrong?" Yamski asked, peeking up from his cup.
           Holzoff didn't reply, but shifted the search to his backpack. No luck there, either.
           "What'd you lose?"
           "My compass," Holzoff finally admitted. "I must've dropped it somewhere between here and the glacier's southern edge."
           "Wow, I never would've thought that someone who made it to the top of Leviathan's Stair would be capable of such a simple mistake."
           Holzoff glared at him.
           Yamski continued, "Tell you what. Instead of both of us running back to Icicle Inn with our tails between our legs or, alternately, freezing to death out here, why don't we team up? If Gaea's Cliff is as tough to scale as you're making it sound, maybe we'd have a better chance of getting to the top together. What do you say?"
           "It's a logical suggestion…" Holzoff said. He didn't like the idea of palling around with this insufferable novice all the way to the top of the cliff, but even with the sun and stars to navigate by, the prospect of continuing on alone without a compass frightened him. "Very well. Let's do it, just as long as you promise to not drive me crazy."
           Yamski drained the rest of his coffee and handed the cup back to Holzoff. "If you do the same for me, then it's a deal. By the way, I don't believe I ever caught your name."
           "Just call me Holzoff. Now hurry up and get ready to go. We have a lot of ground yet to cover before nightfall."

           His first day journeying with Yamski wasn't as bad as he'd feared. Out here alone, now partnered and with their egos cracked by their respective mistakes, their conversation became more amicable, focusing largely on the travels they'd taken and the things they'd seen. Holzoff told of the unbearable summer he spent hunting Desert Sahagin in the Cosmo Canyon region, while Yamski replied with his own adventures dealing with vicious sharks while boating off the coast of Mideel. They talked of other places as well, and of their friends and family who failed to understand their wanderlust. About an hour or so after the sun went down, they happened upon a mountain cave. It was occupied by neither man nor beast, and thus, they decided to stay there for the night.
           Holzoff awoke the next morning to the sound of howling winds. He shuffled out of his sleeping bag and took a peek outside the tent, where he saw a fierce blizzard raging outside the mouth of the cave. Sighing, he closed up the tent again and dug a protein bar from his backpack. Yamski awoke not long afterward.
           "That wind…" he said. "Is that what I think it is?"
           "It's a blizzard," Holzoff verified in between bites. "Looks like we'll be stuck here for a little while."
           "Not for long, I hope. I didn't plan on becoming a human popsicle."
           "We aren't going to die. We'll make it to the top of the cliff and get our names in the papers. Right?"
           "Yeah. Well, I'm going to conserve some energy," Yamski replied. He lay down again and closed his eyes.
           Holzoff stared at him and shook his head, but knew he had the right idea. The less energy they expended during this setback, the better.
           As it turned out, the blizzard raged on for much longer than either of them had anticipated. It was now the third night since their arrival in the cave, and apart from a few Bandersnatches—which were promptly shot and skinned by Holzoff—no one had come to disturb them. Nor were they able to leave, and although their small stoves and Fire materia could provide them with occasional heat, for the most part, they were forced to stay in their tent for maximum warmth. Still, even with the Bandersnatches' pelts now covering the top of their tent, and their top-of-the-line sleeping bags covering most of their bodies, the cold still found a way to sneak in. It was on this third night that Yamski proposed a solution.
           "Let's open up our sleeping bags—we'll use mine as a mattress and yours as a blanket—and use our body heat to keep each other warm."
           "I don't know…"
           "What's there to think about? You'd rather freeze to death?"
           "It's not that cold. It's just uncomfortable, that's all."
           "I want us to be more comfortable. Here, feel me." Yamski held out his gloved right hand, palm up. Holzoff took it.
           "Feels like leather."
           "Very funny."
           Holzoff unbuckled the strap at the wrist which held the glove in place and slid it off. Yamski's hand was flawless, with strong, nimble fingers and smooth skin, but it was also frigid. He stared at it, turning it over in his own hands, not really sure why he was doing so. "You're cold," was all he could say. "You really aren't cut out for this type of weather, huh."
           Yamski reciprocated, removing Holzoff's glove from his own hand. "Your hand is much warmer," he said, gently rubbing Holzoff's palm with his thumb. Holzoff responded by wrapping his fingers around Yamski's hand and locking eyes with him. Inexplicably, he found he could not look away, and apparently, neither could Yamski.
           "So let's say I lend you the warmth of my body, like I gave you some of my coffee. What are you going to do for me in return? You don't get a free pass this time."
           "Says the man who has only gotten this far thanks to my compass," Yamski replied with a small smile. He slipped his hand away from Holzoff's and reached out to stroke his unshaven face. "My hands may be cold, but I'm confident that I can still warm you up."
           Holzoff said nothing, but continued looking into Yamski's eyes until the latter drew their faces closer together, at which point he closed them. Yamski's lips were as cold, if not colder, than his hand, but his tongue was warm. I can't do this, he thought as Yamski pulled him closer, but his warmth, though emerging gradually, was difficult to resist. At that moment, he wanted to consume Yamski's warmth—no, his entire being—while at the same time filling this man with his own. The fierce blizzard outside the cave was soon forgotten.

           The following morning, Holzoff awoke to Yamski in his arms, his smooth, bare back looking nothing like his own, marked as it was with the scars from previous expeditions. Piled atop both of them were his open sleeping bag and several layers of discarded clothes. He stared at the back of Yamski's head and thought about the previous night, wondering why it had even happened in the first place. Were they just horny, forced by circumstance to rely on each other for release, or was there something else at work? Holzoff shook his head and sighed, which was when he noticed that it was dead silent. He scrambled to the door of the tent and unzipped it, then poked his head out to get a look at the mouth of the cave. Outside, it was clear and bright, with only a faint breeze, if even that. Holzoff grinned and promptly shook Yamski awake.
           "Hey Yamski, the blizzard's over. We can continue on to the cliff now!"
           "Huh, really?" Yamski groaned, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. "Damn, and I was just getting comfortable too."
           "What the hell kind of lazy-ass mountain climber are you? C'mon, let's get dressed. Gaea's Cliff awaits!"
           "You misunderstood what I meant by 'comfortable'," said Yamski as he sat up. He leaned forward and placed a tender kiss on Holzoff's lips. "Thanks for last night. You were smokin' hot. Kept me plenty warm."
           "I…" Holzoff started, finding himself unable to continue.
           "What is it?"
           Holzoff began fishing his clothes out of the pile. "Look, although we didn't get off on the right foot, you're a pretty decent guy. But the thing is…"
           "What?"
           "…I don't know. I need to sort some stuff out on my own. Let's just get out of here and get on to the cliff, all right?"
           Yamski nodded. The dejected look on his face coincided with a sharp pang in Holzoff's chest. "All right."
           They got dressed, ate a quiet breakfast of protein bars and water, and broke camp.

           Holzoff and Yamski didn't talk much during the day's hike, and when they did, it was merely to share information. Their post-blizzard travels had taken them to a wide, desolate stretch of land, and after a couple of hours of walking, all they could see in either direction was a flat expanse of snow. Holzoff knew that they would get lost if they continued in their current aimless manner, even with Yamski's compass, and once he spied an outcropping of rock on the horizon, he suggested that they make their way toward it, which they did. As luck would have it, the outcropping contained a small cave, which in turn housed the ruins of an ill-fated expedition from long ago. Holzoff set his pack down and began erecting his tent a little ways away from the old, abandoned one while Yamski examined the frozen chests and jars for anything useable. Amazingly enough, one of the jars held some dry charcoal. As night settled over the land outside, Yamski placed the charcoal in a small pit Holzoff had dug, then lit it with his Fire materia. The burning charcoal gave off a warm, comforting glow, and Holzoff found himself entranced by the flames as they cooked the last of their Bandersnatch meat.
           "Look, about last night…" Holzoff started, scratching at the scruff of his growing beard; of course, Yamski had one coming in as well.
           He didn't look up from the fire. "What about it?"
           "I'd never been in a position like that before. This morning, I was still recovering from the shock of what happened."
           "Guess I came onto you kinda strong, huh?"
           "That's an understatement if I ever heard one."
           "Still, what else could I do? You were sleeping right beside me those first two nights, and it was driving me crazy."
           "Huh?"
           Yamski raised his head. The firelight glinted in his dark eyes. "This might sound cheesy, but I fell in love with you the very moment I first saw you in Icicle Inn's pub."
           Holzoff didn't know what to say. He just stared back at Yamski, dumbfounded, until he found the words. "So what you said back then…"
           "I wanted to see if you'd turn tail and run if you had competition. I can't stand wimps. Fortunately, you got fired up instead."
           "What about passing out in the snow? Was that part of your plan, too?"
           "No. Although I hoped that we'd run into each other on the Glacier, that was just me being stupid." Yamski pulled his backpack over and dug around in one of the pockets. "When you saved me out there, well, I didn't think it was possible but my feelings grew stronger. There's something I need to give you—or rather, return to you."
           He pulled Holzoff's compass from the backpack and held it out. Holzoff didn't touch it, nor did he say anything.
           "You aren't going to take it back?"
           "I nearly had a heart attack when I lost that thing," Holzoff said angrily. "You mean you stole it while I wasn't paying attention and forced us to team up simply because you had the hots for me?"
           "I'm really, truly sorry for deceiving you like this."
           "You damn better be, you moron. I hope you're ready to face the consequences." Holzoff yanked Yamski closer and pulled his face forward until their noses were within a centemeter of each other. His mind was made up; the fog from this morning was gone, and he knew exactly what he wanted from Yamski. He half-whispered, half-hissed, "I'm gonna make you come so hard you won't be able to piss straight for a week."
           Yamski lunged for Holzoff's lips, then broke away after a few secongs, smiling. "I accept my punishment."
           The Bandersnatch meat was left to slowly cook on their makeshift spits while Holzoff and Yamski retreated to the tent.

           The following day was blessed with as sunny and fair a morning as the one before, and with full bellies and eased hearts, the two mountain climbers navigated their way out of the flat, snowy wasteland all the way to the base of Gaea's Cliff. Holzoff looked up at the sheer, black rock and let out a long, low whistle. It was even more magnificent and intimidating than he had imagined. As they stared at the challenge ahead of them, the wind began to pick up. Holzoff took that as a sign and suggested that they begin their ascent.
           The climb was every bit as tough as Holzoff had anticipated, and the icy rocks were certainly giving his trusty tools a good workout. Attached to the rope beneath him was Yamski, who was busy struggling with the climb himself. The wind was now faster than ever, and shockingly cold, sending several million tiny ice crystals to slam against Holzoff's well-wrapped body. He found himself a little worried about Yamski, and hoped that the past few days had chipped away at his natural vulnerability to the cold.
           Finally, he made it to a sizable outcropping and helped Yamski up. For a moment, they sat on this ledge getting their breath back. They tried talking to each other, but the wind was so loud that Holzoff couldn't make out what Yamski was saying, only being able to pick out the words "freezing" and "hurt". Just hang in there, Yamski, Holzoff thought. Just a little longer and we'll make it to the top of the cliff, and then they'll print our names in all the papers.
           They continued on, and the climb grew more treacherous. At one point, Holzoff found himself unable to progress any further. Yamski was stuck below him, and he himself was running out of energy. All of a sudden, he felt the weight below him shift. Figuring that Yamski had taken up the climb again, Holzoff himself continued to press forward, fueled by his partner's apparent newly-found drive. Eventually, he pulled himself to the final ledge. He was at the top of the cliff. Before him was the interior of the crater, at the heart of which was a constantly swirling whirlwind of mako. It was hauntingly beautiful, unlike anything he had ever seen before. Over his shoulder he called, "Better get up here soon, Yamski. You have to see this!"
           It was then that he felt something was wrong. "Yamski?"
           An ill feeling welling up in the pit of his stomach, he tugged at the rope which dangled from his waist. It was much lighter than it should've been. Fearing the worst, he pulled the rest of it up. It was shortened, ending with a clean cut, as if made with a knife. Holzoff yelled in anguish, his cries overpowering the wind, echoing across the crater's rim.
           "YAMSKI!"

*****

           Holzoff returned to Icicle Inn a few days later. After spending a week to physically recover from the journey, he regaled the locals at Icicle Inn's pub one night with the tale of his and Yamski's journey through the Great Glacier and up the side of Gaea's Cliff, being sure to leave out the more intimate details. Instead, they were merely former rivals-made-friends by the end, and though the locals listened attentively and offered their sympathies, Yamski would continue to haunt Holzoff in the years that followed.
           He ended up settling in Icicle Inn, and a few years later, married and settled in a large house. In the meantime, he made many trips out to the Great Glacier. He told his wife that the purpose of these trips was to map the area, but in fact, that was only one part of his plan.
           The years passed by, and Holzoff continued working on his mapping project, as well as his secret one, whenever he could spare the time. Aside from a scuffle involving Shinra troops which resulted in a local scientist's death and the pub's head bartender, Ifalna, disappearing overnight, nothing overly exciting happened in Icicle Inn during that entire time. A few explorers and mountain climbers would pass through every so often, and if Holzoff happened to meet them, he would tell them about his journey with Yamski and warn them of the dangers of the cliff. Some came back alive, but he never learned what became of the rest.
           On the eve of the tenth anniversary of his arrival in Icicle Inn, he told his wife he was leaving for Gaea's Cliff, and left a completed copy of his Great Glacier map with her, in case she should ever need it. She was dismayed, but ultimately understood, and after making the rounds with the townsfolk, spent one last night with her. He then left the following morning at the crack of dawn for his new dwelling, a small cabin at the base of the cliff, which he had slowly crafted over the course of many years.

           Twenty more years passed. His black hair became gray, but the cliff's challengers did not cease to come. He would offer them his story, a few words of advice, and a place to stay before they disappeared into the snowdrifts. Sometimes, in his hunting trips out on the Great Glacier, he would come across some weary travelers such as his latest bunch, an odd trio made up of the spiky-haired man, a tall gunman with a long red cloak and some sort of brass gauntlet, and a caped and crowned cat perched atop a giant stuffed moogle.
           Holzoff stared out at the window as they slept. Somewhere out there were Yamski's remains, which he had never been able to find. When he first told his story in Icicle Inn's pub, Ifalna said that Yamski had "returned to the Planet" and "joined the Lifestream"; Holzoff wasn't sure what this meant, but for some reason, it was a comforting thought. He closed his eyes and recalled those freezing cold nights in his small tent, where they relied on each other not only for warmth, but comfort and companionship as well. He missed holding Yamski in his arms, and being held in his, even if it was only for those two nights. Holzoff one desire was for Yamski's death to not be in vain, and he tried to keep his partner alive through his cautionary words, so that others wound not meet the same fate.
           On the floor, the spiky-haired man stirred. Soon, it would begin again: the cliff would see her latest challengers, and Holzoff would offer them advice before they left, praying dearly for their safety.

---

Written July 2009 | Copyright 2009, Reeve.