Nils peered west, toward the darkening horizon. He gripped the frozen ropes of the hot-air balloon as it began to sway in the breeze. The silk material of the great balloon snarled and rippled above him.

Pulling down his goggles to see more clearly, he watched birds scatter across the frozen skies, adrift upon the strengthening westerly winds. Bad weather could be dangerous and would cost them time, pulling them from their course.

“Can we avoid it?” The voice of Knut behind him echoed his own concerns. Knut’s question was not directed at him but at Salomon, the leader of the expedition.

“No. The storm front is too broad and moves too swiftly.” Salomon lowered his spyglass as he spoke and turned toward the two of them. “This is what we prepared for. We go through it, gentlemen.” His stern, moustached face offered no room for argument.

The two younger men exchanged looks and nodded. Both had been with him long enough to trust in his judgement.

“Ensure the supplies are properly secured.” Salomon fastened the buttons of his heavy jacket, as Nils and Knut followed his instructions.

Nils feared that the wind might continue to carry them further east. It was a risk they knew existed, and one they had allowed for. There were enough fuel and provisions to ensure the success of their exploratory mission, regardless of the loss of a few days.

A deep rumble from the angry sky was followed quickly by a flash of lightning, momentarily illuminating the rolling ocean beneath them.

Nils was reassured by the calm demeanour of his companions. Both were educated men and notable engineers, with a great deal of ballooning experience. He himself was a young photographer who had been employed to provide an aerial record of the arctic territory that they would cross over. It was an opportunity to make a name for himself. This expedition to map the North would make them all famous and show their countrymen what is possible with science and vigour.

The storm brought a chill rain that began to drum upon the balloon above them. It ran down the material in freezing rivulets, soaking their thick coats and woolly hats. The wicker basket that held the three men began to lurch and shake violently in the strength of the storm, forcing them to hold fast. The ropes groaned in their moorings as the balloon slowly spun, at the mercy of the weather.

All three men noticed they were quickly losing altitude. The freezing rain had brought with it a drop in temperature, causing them to descend toward the distant waves.

“Off-load the ballast. All of it! This storm will shake us apart or send us into the sea. We have to go over it!”

At Salomon’s shouted command, Nils joined Knut in helping heave the sandbags over the side. Each bag tumbled silently into the raging seas below. A peal of thunder rumbled across the skies, swallowing all other sound. Nils paused, staring in wondrous awe. This close, the thunder sounded like the fury of God himself. Perhaps the church was right, men were never meant to fly. They had recently condemned man-made flight as a challenge to God’s divine authority.

He was jolted from his thoughts by a hand on his shoulder and turned to see Knut trying to say something to him. His words were muffled in the storm, but Nils could read the concern in his eyes and followed his gaze. Leaning over the side of the basket, he saw one of the heavy sandbags had become tangled in the trailing drag ropes and swung wildly in the winds beneath them. The weight below would cause them to spin and slow any ascent.

Nils saw his two companions briefly discuss a course of action and he strained to hear their words. An agreement was quickly resolved between them before Knut helped Salomon secure a rope about his waist. Salomon began to clamber carefully over the side of the basket as Nils watched, frozen in place. Despite his age, Salomon remained a formidable man: tall, broad-shouldered, and fiercely focused on anything he wished to achieve.

“Help me with the rope, Nils.” Knut’s shouted words snatched him from his fears, and he gripped the wet rope with fingers that felt numb despite his gloves.

“Salomon will cut it free, then we haul him back up. Understand?”

Nils nodded a reply. From his position Salomon was mostly below his view but occasionally, when the basket lurched, he glimpsed the man inching down toward the tangle. The strength of the storm whipped around them. He briefly wondered how much worse it was for Salomon, suspended below. Nils doubted he himself would have the courage to do such a thing.

With a sudden jolt they began to rise again, signalling that Salomon had been successful.

Beside him, Knut grinned in triumph, beginning to say something before a deafening crash and blinding light robbed Nils of his senses, forcing him to stagger and fall to his knees. The shock and suddenness made him gasp for breath in air that tasted metallic and strange.

Everything was snatched away into darkness.

Slowly, his hearing returned, faint and distorted, as though he were beneath the water. As the world regained focus, he realised they had been struck by lightning. The balloon itself seemed undamaged but Knut lay motionless beside him. Nils crawled across and gently rolled him over. Knut’s eyes were open and staring in death.

He checked for a pulse but found nothing. Knut’s heart must have failed. Nils' breathing quickened as he became aware he was alone in the balloon and adrift in the storm. He remembered Salomon and, hurrying to his feet, peered over the side into the sky below.

At first he saw nothing, but then as the balloon pivoted the figure of Salomon swung into view, hanging limply from the rope.

Bracing himself, Nils began to haul Salomon up. Nils was a tall, athletic man but the weight was as heavy as an anchor. His arms and shoulders ached under the strain, and he shouted a wordless cry of pain and effort into the wind. Hand over hand he pulled on the rope, until eventually Salomon’s head and shoulders appeared level with the basket. Gripping him by his jacket, Nils hoisted him over the side.

He was relieved to see Salomon’s chest rise and fall steadily, but one side of his face was horrifically burned. A network of fine lines, raw and vivid, had been seared into his flesh. It was a wonder he still breathed. As Nils lingered above the scarred face, Salomon’s pale blue eyes flared open and his large hand firmly gripped Nils’ shoulder.

“I saw it…in the clouds. Did you see it?” Salomon’s voice had a fierce intensity that disturbed Nils more than his wounds.

Nils could only shake his head in response. But there was some further strangeness about Salomon’s eyes: small shapes seemed to squirm and swim within them. A surge of lightning could have strange effects on a man.

“It was monstrous, like a creature from myth.” Salomon’s unnerving eyes were unfocused, as though he were reliving what he had seen.

“You need rest, Salomon. Your wounds...” Nils was surprised he was even conscious, let alone able to talk. Salomon acted as though he had little concern for his injuries.

“Tell Knut to unpack the rifle.”

“Knut…died in the lightning.”

Salomon lowered his head in silence as he absorbed the words. Nils saw his gaze finally settle on the body of his colleague.

After a moment of silence, Salomon staggered unsteadily to his feet, with a look of grim determination. Another flash of lightning lit the sky, silhouetting Salomon against the light and smothering him in darkness. As the light faded, Salomon’s scarred face returned into focus.

“It wasn't the lightning that did this. It was that creature… I saw it descend from the clouds, like the very spectre of death.”

“Knut is dead. We need to return, there is—”

“No. We have to find it.”

The basket lurched, sending Nils slamming into one of the four suspension lines that secured the basket to the balloon above them. He regained his balance and dabbed at his fresh-cut lip. When he looked up, he saw Salomon had begun to rummage hurriedly among the bundled supplies, sending them rolling across the wicker basket. He had found the rifle he was searching for—a weapon they kept as protection for polar bears, should they need to set down on the frozen tundra.

“What are you doing?” Nils asked.

Salomon ignored him and began loading shells into the magazine of the bolt-action Mauser as Nils looked on in disbelief. With the rifle in one hand, the larger man grabbed a fistful of Nils’ rain-soaked jacket and pulled him close. With his scarred face only inches from Nils’ own, he looked like a man possessed. It was as though his ferocity were a match for the intensity of the storm itself. No words passed between them for a long moment before Salomon thrust his finger upward, pointing toward the dark, swollen clouds.

For a moment, Nils thought he saw a shape among the mist and haze before it was swallowed in the rain.

“It’s above us. We need more height.”

The larger man began throwing winter provisions over the side—food and carefully chosen supplies they needed. Salomon heaved Nils’ crate containing his expensive camera equipment overboard as the younger man looked on in horror. Years of his work discarded as if it were nothing.

“Salomon, this is madness. You chase shadows! There is nothing out there and we have no more weight to throw over.”

In response Salomon’s gaze drifted back to the body of Knut.

“For God’s sake, man! He was your friend."

“My friend is dead. Throw that body over the side.”

Nils gripped the suspension line, unwilling to provide his assistance, as the two men locked gazes. Salomon’s grim aspect made him seem frighteningly different to the man Nils had known. For a moment, he thought Salomon would raise the gun or even shoot him, but instead Salomon lowered the rifle and stooped to hoist Knut’s body over his shoulder. Before Nils could find the composure to stop him, Salomon slid the body over the side.

“You are insane...”

The words that spilled from his lips in a whisper were lost in the rain. Salomon turned aside, returning his gaze to the skies with a cold intensity. They began to rise once more, floating higher into the turbulent sky. The ocean below was soon lost from sight.

The balloon sailed within the raging storm, as lightning lit an ocean of swirling skies below. Clouds formed and distorted, creating a theatre of monstrous faces and shapes that moved all around them. The sight was awe-inspiring.

Nils’ breathing quickened and he began to feel lightheaded and short of breath. Looking across to Salomon, he saw the older man wracked with coughing, experiencing the same, though he was too absorbed in his pursuit to admit it. Nils recognised the signs of altitude sickness and remembered tales of balloons that had strayed too high. Only bodies were ever recovered.

“We are too far up, Salomon. You will kill us both!” Nils clutched Salomon’s arm.

Salomon shrugged him off violently and shouted triumphantly above the distant thunder. “There!”

A great darkness flitted past them, silhouetted by the lightning for a brief moment, before it spun away. Nils stood agape. Whatever the figure was, it was far larger than their fragile craft. No bird or creature known to man could be so large and soar through the skies. Salomon raised the rifle to his shoulder and fired at the swift shape before it disappeared into the clouds.

“Pass me more shells, quickly.”

The command snatched Nils from his stupor, and still numb with shock, he knelt among the supplies, digging for the spare shells. The basket shook in the storm, sending bottles and flasks rolling across the wicker floor. Fear made his hands tremble and his thoughts spin. Behind him he heard Salomon muttering, wild ravings muted by the thunder that drowned out his words.

The crack of the rifle sounded again. The gunshot was answered by a mournful cry of wind that made Nils shudder in fear.

“Yes, I see you, beast! I recognise the devil himself!” Salomon shouted into the storm.

Nils moved to Salomon’s side with a fistful of bullets and Salomon turned toward him. The strange eyes were filled with hate as he snatched the shells and began to load them into the magazine. He was a man obsessed.

Nils wondered if they were both deranged by the thin air, so high up among the clouds. After all, he had seen nothing but a fleeting shape.

“We need to descend, Salomon.” Nils’ voice was a dry rasp.

He was not even sure Salomon had heard him. Nils felt increasingly faint and desperate for air. He could not stand it anymore.

Nils reached for the hydrogen valve to begin venting gas, as he had seen his companions do. The valve was stiff and frozen, and in his weakened state, he had to use both hands in an effort to free it.

“Step away from that.”

The cold tone of Salomon’s voice made him cease his effort. He looked up to see the rifle pointed at him. Nils lowered his hands from the mechanism, never taking his eyes from the gun. The man seemed pale and unsteady, weakened by his injury and the altitude as much as Nils himself was. Salomon held himself together with nothing but stubborn resolve, pain etched upon his mutilated features.

“There are places in this world we know nothing of. Even now, the seas and skies are almost unexplored.” Salomon’s deep voice was audible above the wind. “I have met educated men that have unearthed bones of creatures that make even whales seem small, with teeth the size of a man's forearm.” The barrel of the rifle never wavered in Salomon’s grip. “The world still has its monsters, Nils. I do not believe they ever truly left us.”

Salomon’s gaze lost its intensity and drifted back to the sky, where the clouds gathered and shifted. “Here, we are in its domain. It is out there... And have no doubt, it hunts us.”

Nils realised in that instant, he looked upon the face of madness. He hesitated for only a moment before hurling himself at the older man. The two of them crashed together heavily into the side of the basket, fighting over the rifle. Nils' breath came in ragged pants as he tried to wrestle the gun from the larger man.

A sharp crack made Nils release the gun and reel backward: the rifle had discharged close to his face. He smelled the acrid stench of gunpowder. Before he had a moment to register the pain, a series of percussive snaps ripped through the air and the basket pitched sharply, swinging dangerously through the skies. Nils managed to cling to the upper side of the basket as ropes whipped loose in the wind. The figure of Salomon slid past him among a cascade of loose supplies, plummeting toward the edge and tumbling toward the abyss below. At the last moment, he saw Salomon grip the lower edge, preventing his fall.

Nils glanced upward to see only two supporting ropes remained, attaching the body of the balloon to the crew basket; the rest had broken loose. A link must have been severed by the rifle shot. Below him, Salomon still clung to the edge. Salomon’s position was precarious, and he was in more danger with each passing moment.

“Climb up to me!”

At the sound of Nils' shout, Salomon looked up at him before his gaze switched to the rifle, lying at the very bottom of the basket. Nils could only watch as, instead of climbing upward, Salomon stretched toward the rifle with grasping fingers. He had almost reached it when another snap caused the basket to tilt farther and swing heavily in the storm, hurling the last of the supplies into the skies. Nils caught a glimpse of Salomon, still intent upon the weapon, before he was thrown from the balloon. The man did not cry out as he twisted, spinning downward, and was quickly lost from sight among the clouds.

The last rope groaned in its metal link, threatening to detach completely. Nils drew on the remains of his strength and gripped the support line, pulling himself up onto the surface of the balloon itself.

His footing slipped against the frosted white surface that was difficult to grip through his gloves, but fear and adrenaline lent him strength. He hauled himself upward and hooked an arm between the rope bindings to secure himself in place.

A moment later, he felt the last suspension line give way as the entire basket detached from the balloon, plunging toward the distant ocean. Free of the weight beneath it, the balloon began to ascend rapidly.

Exhausted and clinging to consciousness, he looked out upon a view no man had seen before. Vast, dark pillars of clouds stretched tens of thousands of feet into the air. In the wind they slowly shifted, rising and falling, like the waves of an angry ocean. Among the pillars, smaller ethereal clouds drifted, as though they were the souls of the dead. Perhaps they were. He felt he could almost touch the heavens.

He had always had a passion for beauty, for capturing it in art and lens. It was the instinct that attracted him to camera work, to record moments of beauty. Here it was everywhere, stretching and changing in the strength of the storm, like a great shifting canvas. A myriad of darkened colours, punctuated by blossoms of lightning.

There were no birds this high. No life. Nothing could live for long at such heights. Nils’ breathing was harder now, small, short gasps that would barely come. His vision blurred and distorted with strange shapes, swimming upon a horizon he could no longer be sure of. His hands felt numb, and his body shook constantly with a chill that seeped into his bones.

Between his frost-covered eyelids, he thought he saw writhing fragments among the clouds, shapes that reminded him of the strangeness within Salomon’s eyes. With great effort, he raised his head and tried to focus. The shapes moved with purpose, snaking through the clouds.

In his blurring vision, they appeared to come close to the balloon. As Nils looked harder, he saw they were living creatures, monstrous things that he would not have believed existed: eel-shaped serpentine creatures with wings like sails soaring around him, riding the winds with grace and power. They drew close to the flashes of lightning, which crackled around them.

Nils’ lungs rattled with the need for air as he struggled to stay conscious. The creatures drew toward him, their bestial cries piercing the air, echoed by the thunder that reverberated all around. The clouds seethed with them.

Salomon was wrong. The skies are not the domain of man.

In 1897 Salomon August Andrée, Knut Fraenkel and photographer Nils Strindberg attempted to map the territories of the North Pole by aerial photography. Their remains were not found for more than thirty years. More on the story: https://uisjournal.com/the-disastrous-arctic-balloon-expedition-of-1897/

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