Ice: The Climate Fiction Saga

by Wendeberg, A.

  ‘No fat,’ I say softly.

  ‘No fat,’ Irikei repeats.

  Without the thick layers of blubber the beluga and seal would have provided, we will burn more energy than we can ever take up. We need fat and so do the dogs. With meat alone, we’ll all starve to death.

  ‘This has always been a one-way trip for me,’ I say.

  Irikei’s eyebrows shoot up. Katvar’s head slowly turns to me, his gaze is analysing but not surprised. I gift him a quick smile. ‘Trust me, my friend, I’ll not risk your life. I go alone.’

  He chews on my words, his hands don’t speak.

  Then, Irikei says, ‘It might be possible if we give you all our fish — it has more fat than the bear meat on your sled. We’ll supply you with this and as much reindeer meat as your sled can carry. You will have to balance the weight of your sleds with the number of dogs. The farther you get, the less weight they’ll carry and the fewer dogs you’ll need.’

  I nod. I had thought of this before. Dogs will be my emergency food. I look at Katvar, but I don’t know what to make of his expression, so I turn back to Irikei. ‘Would you provide me with dogs?’

  ‘They are not trained sled dogs. They protect the herds from wolves and bear. You can’t use reindeer, either, because you can’t possibly carry that much fodder with you. When the reindeer get hungry, they’ll pull your sled back to the mainland and you won’t be able to do anything about it. Except kill them.’

  I mull over my options and I don’t like that there’s but one. ‘Katvar, may I have your dogs?’

  ‘You want to eat my dogs,’ he signs.

  ‘No, I don’t want to eat them. But I’ll have to.’

  He looks at his fur boots, picks at them, and lifts his hands. ‘I come with you.’

  ‘Thank you for the offer, but—’

  He cuts me off with a slash of his hand. ‘No dogs for you, then.’

  ———

  ‘Irikei, may I speak with you?’ I call through the reindeer skin. Laptsui opens her home for me and invites me in. She says something, waves at a pillow in the corner, then points at herself and outside. ‘Yadne,’ she says and leaves. Irikei wraps a fur blanket around his shoulders and sits by the table. His white shirt and light brown pants are decorated with red and white patterns. When his wife returns with Yadne, I say my thanks and begin. ‘My apologies for disturbing you so late at night.’ I bow my head.

  Irikei smiles broadly and encourages me to continue.

  ‘I need your help once more, Irikei. My friend, Katvar, wants to cross the ice with me and I will not let him. I will leave tomorrow night, a few hours earlier than we’ve planned. The problem is, I can’t load the sled without him noticing it. He insists on coming with me, but this is not his business and I won’t let him die like this.’

  Irikei considers what I’ve said. He lowers his head, bends to Laptsui and talks to her softly. She nods.

  ‘It is his decision. He is no child,’ he tells me.

  I sigh. ‘Yes, it’s his decision. But it’s my mission. I’ve been trained for it and you say I’m destined to do it.’

  Oh shit, do I feel silly saying the destiny thing out loud. But they believe it, so I use it to my advantage. ‘He is a simple hunter and he helped me all the way from his home to this place here. He’s no warrior, he knows nothing about combat. He will be in my way, once I reach Svalbard.’

  ‘You expect a battle?’

  ‘Yes. Absolutely.’

  He rubs his chin. The sparse beard rustles over his fingertips. Then, he nods. ‘We will help you.’

  ———

  I’m trembling. Katvar lies on his furs, his hands are tied behind his back and a bruise is blooming on his chin. There’s murder in his eyes.

  I open my mouth to tell him I’m sorry I betrayed his trust, to pour a ton of apologies over him, but I don’t think he needs that now. He’s boiling inside.

  ‘I’m going into battle, Katvar. Untrained personnel die first. I’ve never used cannon fodder and never will. Goodbye.’

  ‘No!’ he hollers in his croaky voice. But I’ve already turned my back to him.

  The dogs are waiting and happy to run me to wherever I need to go. I pick up the whip, nod at Irikei, and tap Balto’s neck.

  The only indications that I’m on Yuznhy Island are the slightly irregular ground and the slippery snow. When I was crossing the sea ice from Nenets territory to the island that stretches its slender neck far into the arctic, I felt the ice snag at the skids of my sled. The dogs had to work harder and I worried they might overheat.

  The night following the crossing was bitter cold. I have no way of measuring the temperature, but I’m guessing it was below minus forty degrees Celsius. I’m hoping for fresh snow to cover the sticky sea ice. The journey would be smoother and the dogs wouldn’t work themselves to death before getting anywhere near Svalbard. I might have to run them at night, to keep them cool enough.

  I felt lonely the first night. I tried to keep myself happy knowing that Katvar will return home and live a good life. Half a life. Half a man. Wasn’t that what he’d said once? Better than what lies ahead.

  For me, it’s fine. Just fine. I never planned on surviving this. Pulling the rug from underneath the BSA’s large ass, that’s all I want. Destroy them utterly. Burn them out.

  Fuckers.

  I’ll happily accept a bullet to the head when this is over.

  I’m done with life in general. Everything about me is broken. Cunt. Slut. Killer. Mother without daughter. Fucked up. Unfixable.

  I take a sip from my canteen and lie down in my furs.

  There’s a noise. Low. The dogs are growling. I’m wide awake in a flash, grab my rifle, make sure my pistol and my knife are on me, and then crouch at the entrance of my snow hut. A faint, crunching noise. Excited yapping from my dogs and from other dogs, farther away and approaching quickly.

  My heart grows heavy and I sit back down.

  A sled comes to a halt. I hear him greet the animals, hear him make sure all the dogs are safe and well. Pats to all necks, gentle bumps to all muzzles. The creaking of boots in snow. He doesn’t hesitate, simply kicks in the block of compacted snow and enters in a low crouch. He catches sight of the small flame. It flickers with the icy draft that enters with him. He takes in the muzzle pointed at his chest and my fierce scowl.

  ‘Fool!’ I mutter.

  He narrows his eyes and leaves the hut, to return a moment later with his arms full of furs and brush. He chucks them on the ground and closes the entrance.

  Without ever looking at me, he prepares his bed, sheds his fur jacket, boots, and pants, then drinks from his canteen. There’s a single glance he throws at me. It’s not a friendly one.

  He pulls his shirt over his head. The knife glistens on his chest, dark patterns swirling over muscles.

  I’ve missed him. Badly. I want to reach out and touch his skin, and I want to slap his face and bury myself in his embrace.

  I keep my conflicting feelings to myself, place my weapons aside and hold on to my hands instead.

  He shovels snow onto his face, rubs it over his upper body, armpits, and back. The cold makes him huff large clouds.

  When he fumbles at the leather strings of his pants, my hand strays back to my pistol; one finger at the safety catch. This wretched reflex; I hate myself for it.

  Unfazed, Katvar sheds the last piece of clothing. He washes himself with snow and my eyes follow his hands wherever they go. I want to get closer and yet, I don’t. One part of me wants to shoot him, the other wants to know his true taste.

  He pulls his underwear back on and rolls onto his bed, turns his back to me, and throws the furs over himself.

  ‘I don’t want you to die, Katvar,’ I manage.

  He doesn’t move.

  ‘You can’t save me. If you cross the ice, there’s no coming back. Please.’ Tentatively, I reach out and place my hand between his shoulder blades. ‘Please. Go back tomorrow morning.’

&nb
sp; He feels warm and wonderful. Prickling runs up my arm and into my chest. I snatch my hand away.

  He turns to look at me and raises his hands. ‘I want to spend the rest of my life with you.’

  Ache grips my stomach and only when the ice cold wall touches my back do I notice that I’ve crept away from him. I feel the pistol in my hand and I’m not sure how it got there. I drop it and push it away, as far as the small room allows.

  I shake my head no. ‘You shouldn’t. There’s a monster in my chest. It wants to kill. And I’m dying. That makes the rest of your life very short. Don’t…’

  ‘I know you,’ he signs. ‘I want to be at your side, Micka.’

  My eyes are wet. My heart hurts. ‘It doesn’t let me go,’ I croak. ‘It doesn’t let go. It’s smeared all over my skin, my insides, my brain. I want to kill. All I want to do is kill.’

  He sits up and holds out both hands to me, palms up, waiting. An offering. I’m trembling, all the hair on the back of my neck stand up. I unfurl my fists, flex my fingers. And then I do it: I reach out, surrender to his pull and let myself be drawn forward, onto a strong chest, broad shoulders, the crook of his neck. My cheek brushes his, the stubble on his chin, the heat he radiates.

  ‘Tell me,’ he croaks in his brutally ruined voice.

  I place a soothing palm on his throat.

  But I can’t. I can’t talk about it. I shake my head and he places his hand softly on my cheek.

  ‘Tell me,’ he says again and it breaks my heart to hear his tortured voice beg. I think of the girl who blew herself up, back in Taiwan, in the BSA camp. She had been used for who knows how long. Long enough to get pregnant and give birth to a tiny child.

  I can do it. I can. Just push that monster away and…

  ‘Silas had a routine,’ I begin. ‘I told myself I could prevent the worst by predicting and obeying his every whim.’

  I croak a laugh. What was I thinking? Who was I, then? A slave? Yes. That’s what I was.

  Fingers comb through my hair. Soothing, beckoning.

  ‘Tell me,’ he says again.

  ‘Shhh,’ I say and touch my lips to his throat. ‘Erik gave me to him and forbade him to kill me. But Silas knew where and how to hit. He always went for the solar plexus first. He walked in and punched me in the chest, cut off my air. No warning. Rarely any visible bruises on my face, throat, and arms.’

  Katvar places his hand on my ribcage. My heart cracks against his palm.

  My voice trembles over his collar bone. ‘Then he told me to undress.’

  My hands abandon him, slip under my shirt and pull it over my head. I unbutton my pants and scoot them down my legs. Cold air bites my skin. ‘I am terrified,’ I whisper.

  He pulls a reindeer skin over my shoulders and signs, ‘Tell me.’

  I’m panting. ‘He…’ Panic grabs my chest and throat. He’s not here. He’s not him.

  ‘He threw me on the floor and tied me to the kitchen table.’ I hold out my wrists.

  He shakes his head, eyes wide.

  ‘Make him go away.’

  Katvar’s Adams apple bobs, eyes blink, jaws clench. He picks up my shirt and wraps it loosely around my wrists.

  ‘You will have to tie a knot.’

  He stares at my outstretched hands and ties a double knot with quivering fingers.

  ‘At which point I’m already on my stomach.’ My voice sounds monotonous. I turn and lie flat on my stomach, making myself even more vulnerable and helpless. One part of me expects the attack any moment now. A part that wants to take over, lash out, kick, grab the pistol that’s barely out of reach and fire two rounds at the man’s chest.

  I can’t see Katvar’s face, but I hear his constricted breathing. He’s struggling.

  The fur blanket is moved higher up my back. I feel him lie down next to me, his hand on my neck, fingers caressing the base of my skull.

  My eyes flutter shut. My thoughts drift away from the pistol and, for a short moment, I revel in his affection for me.

  As expected, the alarm goes off again. Loud. I don’t know why. There are no signs of him doing anything threatening.

  He caresses my neck and waits for me to do whatever I need to do.

  ‘I know to keep my ass up in the air, offering it to him, because…’ I hesitate when I feel Katvar shiver. But I do it anyway. My ass goes up. ‘Because he’ll kick it bloody if I don’t.’

  Katvar presses his face against my shoulder.

  ‘Mend me,’ I whisper.

  He exhales his tension, looks at me with eyes so dark, sparkling with the single flame that paints our ice cave in warm light.

  He’s changing. I can see it in his expression. He draws strength from someplace unknown to me, moves closer and brushes his nose against mine, his lips against my eyelids, my ears, my neck. His hands stray beneath the fur, balm to my terrified skin. He caresses my back, wraps his arm around my waist, curls his hand around my ass.

  My muscles clench in anticipation of excruciating pain. I know he won’t hurt me, but my monster doesn’t. My monster helped me survive two years at BSA headquarters and now, it wants to kill me or kill him. Or both.

  I’m shaking uncontrollably when he trails soft kisses down my spine. The furs tickle my skin. His palm warms my ass. His thumb draws small circles on my gooseflesh.

  ‘He’s behind me and shoves his cock into my ass or his pistol into my cunt. He loves to yank my hair while he fucks me. He calls me “slut,” “whore,” and “cunt,” and he keeps twisting and bending my neck and I keep wishing he would snap it.’

  Katvar moves from my side, never breaking contact with my skin. He’s right behind me now and I’m hurting, my monster tells me the pain is here already and I should grab my pistol and kill him. Kill him!

  He pushes the furs aside and curls his body around mine, covers my nakedness with his strength. The muscles of his chest, arms, and legs press through his clothes. Against me, around me.

  My monster wants to fight his embrace. Sobs explode from my chest.

  He runs his fingers through my hair, pulls the short strands gently to bend my head to the side and cups my face into his palm. Calluses rest against my cheek. Tears seal the connection.

  Behind me, air leaves lungs in a rattle. Fingers trail softly down my side, a hand cups my butt cheek, first one, then the other, and comes to a rest against my cunt. Cunt. That’s what Silas called me.

  ‘He called me cunt. “Ass up, cunt!” I wasn’t human. I was a domesticated animal. All women were. To these men, there was nothing immoral about using us like this. It was normal. Just as normal as slaughtering a pig or…’

  I feel Katvar shaking, feel how much he hurts. I can’t stop, because he needs to know, because his pain is soothing my pain and I need this now, else I’ll drown. He wraps his arms around me, so tight, I can barely breathe.

  ‘I never screamed. I bit my arm to shut my mouth.’ I growl at my pain, my fear, my wish to kill Katvar before he gets a chance to hurt me. I want to burn that part of me. It’s not me. It’s not even human. ‘Don’t stop touching me, please.’

  His hands travel across my body, touching every square centimetre Silas hurt. He cups my sex and I weep. He kisses the scars on my arms, my back and the DIE that’s carved there and only then do I realise I’ve never told him about it. He’ll think Silas did it.

  ‘My stepfather cut this one when I was five. I cut most of the others.’

  That’s when Katvar breaks. He picks me up as if I weigh nothing, moves me to his lap and wraps himself around me, rocking me until his breathing grows less strained. I feel the wetness of his cheeks against my face, the thrum of his heartbeat against mine.

  ‘I don’t want you to die,’ I tell him again and he answers in his hoarse bear voice, ‘I am alive.’

  I wrap my arms around him and try to breathe, just breathe, and to soothe my roaring monster. There’s one more story to tell.

  ‘Katvar?’

  He kisses my forehead.

&nb
sp; ‘My daughter… She was Jeremiah’s, it was obvious from the colour of her hair and the paleness of her skin. Silas took her from me only moments after she was born. I…’

  I inhale and exhale. Inhale. Exhale. It’s going to be okay, I tell myself.

  ‘He took her by her feet and swung her against the kitchen table. Three times. I was nothing, she was everything. He broke every bone of my everything. I’ve never felt so helpless.’

  He takes my face in his hands, makes me look at him. His eyes are wet, his eyebrows are bunched up and his face ghostly pale. He’s searching my expression, unable to speak or sign.

  ‘I was so weak, I couldn’t get up, couldn’t walk, I couldn’t…’

  Katvar presses his forehead against mine and blows, ‘Shhh. Shhh,’ against my lips.

  ‘I couldn’t help her. The following night, Silas raped me again. I couldn’t care less. I bled, but didn’t care. I felt like a corpse and wondered, why he was fucking me. I was dead. Can one fuck a corpse? He must have believed I was too weak to fight, so he didn’t tie me to the table. I didn’t even notice when he was done with me. I thought of her… She’d left and so had I. And then… I heard his snores. He sounded peaceful, innocent. That’s when the rage came. Oh, how I loved it! I was alive, strong, determined. I was brimming with energy! I picked up the eating knife, lunged at him and jammed it into his voice box, ripped it out with two swings. I wanted him to fight me, to strike back, to hurt me. I wanted us both to die. He was an excellent fighter. Erik had chosen him to teach me hand-to-hand combat and boy did he enjoy kicking me around during training sessions! I was sure he would punch me hard if I gave him any opportunity. I was wrong. He just stared at me. Blood was leaking thickly through his fingers. I had surprised him and he just…stared.’