Glass Winter | Chapter XI

Restless, restless. Tossing, turning, tossing. Clarity fading in, and dissolving. Panting, panting, panting. He was running. Malcolm was running.

I need to see. I need to see.

Clarity fading in. Sepulchral echoes in the deep. Clarity fading out.

Why can’t I see?

He was panicking. He couldn’t remember the last time he had dreamed, nor when he called on a vision. This wasn’t a vision, however. He was there, right there, running. His feet were tramping; he could feel it. He felt the vastness of his environment, and it crushed him. He was dreaming.

Sepulchral echoes in the deep.

What do they want?

A rush of passing air, fading eternally. By sheer will his eyes were made clear once more. He could see the floor tiles – massive flagstones – speeding by. He felt the edifice around him. Spears clanged and clattered behind him. Or were they ahead? Or were they right on top of him?

A rush of passing air, a garish grin. Leather streaked past his face.

We’ve waited long enough.

Malcolm saw it turning around in his periphery. It was coming back.

We’ve feared for long enough. But I fear no longer. I cannot.

The echoes roared into a crescendo instead, and the grin shot towards Malcolm. He let his sight go, but clarity remained in the darkness. He brought his sight back, focusing on the grout lines under his feet, on the clouded marble of the stones, on each dashing pillar either side of his course, on the glorious radiance of a humble altar farther ahead.

So far.

And now so close.

Malcolm sprung from his bed, axe in hand, rebounding off the wall and hacking the vacant air behind him.

The room was empty. Snow drizzled from the ceiling following his compromise to the shelter.

“Focus.”

He sheathed his axe, rubbing his face in his hands.

We need to shift our focus, now that our mind has stilled, on redemption. And on all things righteous and good.

But are we worthy…?

He stopped himself. Doubt. And fear. They could have no place here, that had been decided.

The commune’s denizens had already suffered enough under his guidance, or however little of it they had received. Even Malcolm, at times, doubted its integrity. Perhaps, for all that he had done in his past life, whatever had occurred, now bled into his actions today. Nothing he did or said could make a difference.

Except that it can.

Through spiritual redirection. If not for him…

“Then for the rest of you.”

He received no response. Stillness. It terrified him.

Enough.

Malcolm glanced into Sevt’s room; the man’s foot lay still in slumber past the opening. He was always resting. He had slept for very long when recovering from Sowne’s interrogation. Malcolm sighed, and made for the surface.

He knew what needed to be done. No time could be wasted.

~~~~~

“A sled? You have men outside waiting for a chance at trouble and you think the last of the wood that we have should be spent on your handicap?”

Sevt massaged the stump of his former leg, “Where’s Malcolm?”

“He’s not here.”

“Well, where is he?”

“Not here.”

This guy doesn’t let up.

“I’ve more than Mal’s thorn out of favour with me, what’s more harm to be done? I’m an old man and a cripple, couldn’t you ease the burden?”

“The ‘thorn’s’ name is Sowne,” said the younger man whom had helped Sevt back to the shelter before his sleep. He had golden brown hair that tumbled down to the shoulders. He was narrow-faced and high-browed, “You’d do better to be on his good side, and not everyone hates you here, but they might if you take more than what’s offered to you.”

“I’m in pain, Vel. Crossing that courtyard had taken most of what I can muster in a day…”

“That would have been the schnapps. You can have more if you wish. You’ll be pain-free and resting.”

“…but I need a permanent remedy.”

Vel sighed.

“You’re young, you’re not one to understand—”

“Don’t use that against me now, Sevt. I don’t know what happened out there before you came in, but it’s gotten everyone riled up and for good reason. It wasn’t easy getting here ourselves.”

Vel stood in the doorway, leaning. Sevt waited for elaboration but got nothing.

“How many… were there before you went down to the sea?”

“More than there are now. Some of us still bear the scars from the skirmishes in the commune, and from underground, and what came after.”

“I thought that you had disposed of everyone that were marked by those spirits?”

“We have now.”

Vel picked up his spear, and made to leave but stopped himself.

“I’ll pass on word to Mal about the sled. It won’t be all discreet should he allow it; I’ll tell you now. Last thing you want is people wondering, once you have it, whether you were thieving wood behind their backs.”

Footfalls came down the hallway of snow. A man and a woman showed themselves, sable-haired and phoenix-eyed.

Before Vel could respond the woman had raised her hand, in the other she held a steaming bowl.

“Oleg told us we’re fine. We’ve brought him stew.”

She was grinning. Vel was perplexed as he looked over at Sevt.

“Well, what do you know?”

With that he was gone. The two visitors took a seat next to Sevt on the floor, placing the bowl before him.

“Eat up,” said the man. He had a kind, paunchy complexion.

“You need it, you do. Regardless of what happened out there,” the woman smiled again, “We’re all cursed here anyway. Some more than others.”

They watched him. Eager and patient.

“Oh, of course. I’m Olga. This is my husband, Panuk.”

“Hi.”

Sevt nodded, “How are you?”

He looked at the bowl. Discs of fat settled in lazy islands upon a golden surface. He finally realised that he was starving.

“I’m starving.” Sevt picked up the bowl and sipped, “Thank you. Very much.”

“Everyone’s starving here,” Panuk chuckled.

“Until we’re out of here, we might as well help each other.” Said Olga. “We’ve seen what division can do at the old commune. Anybody still with an intact head on their shoulders wouldn’t want to repeat what happened.”

“Can’t say the same about, Sowne.” Panuk smiled.

He’s quite laconic.

“Panuk means no ill will,” Olga held her partner’s hand, “We owe our lives to Sowne. But he doesn’t seem to know how to quiet down. He’s always moving, or fighting, or preparing to fight.”

“It’s an exhausting life,” Said Panuk.

“But it means he doesn’t trust anyone. Not even former denizens of the same commune, like Aurora and Quin. And especially not you.”

“It’s fine.” Sevt wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, “I might have done the same thing to Sowne if he and I were in the other’s place. It’s just survival.”

“It’s only one way to live.” Said Panuk.

And my days are numbered in my condition.

“Until we met each other,” Olga placed a second hand on Panuk’s, “Here in the cold. It didn’t seem to matter if we survived or not then. At least, the days felt lighter. And they should feel lighter, for everyone.”

Sevt finished the bowl, “Well. Thank you for the meal. It certainly makes it easier.”

Perhaps they could help…?

He tossed the thought out. It wasn’t right. Vel had promised to pass on word to Mal about the sled. And yet…. No.

“Camaraderie and faith go hand in hand for surviving times like these.” Said Olga.

“Right.” Sevt adjusted his seat, “Camaraderie yes.”

“You’re not a religious man?” Asked Panuk.

“I have faith. In fortune and in myself.”

Faith. Golden hair…

Sevt shook his head, “I don’t know. Sorry. I have trouble finding faith in a god in such conditions. It’s hell out there.”

“It is,” Olga nodded, “Well. Whatever works for you, Sevt. We find that holding onto something beyond us provides enough hope to get out of bed every ‘morning’. Hope about starting a new life once we’re out.”

Panuk wrapped an arm around her waist, resting his hand on her belly.

“We want a child,” she went on, “But Sowne forbids it. And Malcolm agrees. It’s hard to say for how much longer we’ll be here, and the last thing the commune needs is another mouth to feed.”

“And considering the nature of the children born here…” Panuk became quiet.

“What nature?” Sevt looked at the man, expecting, perhaps, an answer as to why a child like Aurora could be considered ‘cursed’, if there was a link.

Olga flicked her wrist, “No matter. No matter!”

“There’s enough to be bleak about as it is.” Shrugged Panuk.

He got cuffed on the shoulder by Olga.

“Now don’t say that. He’s got enough on his mind as it is!”

“We all do. But fair’s fair.”

Fair’s fair.

The couple rose to their feet, brushing off snow, and were about to leave until Olga stopped at the hallway’s entrance.

“We are heading to service and prayer, led by Pastor Joel. You’re welcome to join us.”

“And if you’re ever in need of a meal,” Panuk jabbed the air with a finger in Sevt’s direction, “Do let us know.”

“Alright.” Sevt chuckled as he watched the two leave.

The room became still. Sevt rubbed his hands, lifting and holding the toasty bowl.

What kind people.

He hadn’t expected it. The place felt emptier all of a sudden, which surprised him. He had become comfortable with his own thoughts after surviving alone for so long. But of course, without Quin’s help he would have perished in the barrens, and he might never have found the commune nor the sea that led him there by himself. Strangely, it was as if he had forgotten it all once he had woken up in Mal’s shelter.

Service and prayer.

He shook his head and collapsed to the ground while reaching for his cane. The stump of his leg was flaring in pain. Sevt grimaced, pressing his face into the snow despite the fact that it made his skin so numb that it hurt. He would rather feel that than his amputation.

The fire was gone. And Sevt was out of breath.

I can’t keep living like this.

Something had to be done, if not the sled, then something. But what? Something, something…

~~~~~

He watched Tematyr get to work once his name was called, and his men followed suit. Across the perforated surface of the fishing ground – a tumour bulging from the commune across the ice from the lake’s shoreline – a wave had rippled from one wall to the next. It rippled again.

“Harpoon. Be swift now.” Tem received one, stone and bone with a pivoting tip, from a subordinate.

The giant stepped onto the ice while anglers ran or skidded past him to solid ground. He surveyed the holes. Several of his men paced along each wall circumnavigating the area. Each of them locked their harpoon in an atlatl, and crouched low.

The anglers, and several denizens close by, abandoned their work or their fires to watch, gathering by the ice.

It rippled again. Tematyr’s scalded head glanced between breathing holes. There were too many, accounting for all the new fishermen tasked with feeding the starving community.

“Every man keep an eye on two.”

The hunters didn’t need to respond.

Tematyr tightened the rope and float of his spear, and readied his arm.

The ice rippled once more, enough to break a patch on the starting side of the area where, by fortune, two hunters did not fall in, shifting closer to solid ground. Seal breath sprayed from a hole on the left. Tem’s harpoon flew from its atlatl, breaking the animal’s skin in a crimson burst, vanishing as it dove under.

The line rasped in Tem’s hands as he struggled to hold the seal back. Three hunters desperately grabbed at the rope to assist him. It didn’t take long to slow down.

Even from this position, one could see the spear’s inflated float of blubber press against the underside of the ice, indicating where the seal had come to rest. Lucky. Another few feet and they would have to smash through the wall to retrieve it outside.

“Break it!”

Several more hunters followed Tem’s orders and hacked at the ice, yanking the rope out of the water and heaving with all of their might, as their brothers were doing. Soon, the seal bobbed up from the blackness.

While the hunters used the shaft of the spear to pull their catch up onto land, Tematyr rose to his feet and wiped his brow, surveying the cheering commune denizens.

He’s looking my way.

“Gar Darron.”

The lead hunter approached him.

“You’d rather watch than do something useful? Where’s the rest of your party?”

“They’re searching for Mal.” Gar Darron pulled a staff from his back. Its shutters were closed, “He’ll be glad to see this. And… well…”

Tematyr, the giant, stopped. He was watching somebody over Gar Darron’s shoulder.

“Who are they?”

“You don’t recognise them?”

“Perhaps I do. And perhaps I don’t.”

He looked concerned. Tematyr concerned?

“Find Mal.” He turned to somebody in the crowd, “Find him now. We have newcomers besides Gar Darron’s party. Find him now!!”