Ever Winter

by Hackshaw, Peter

  “I need to see him. My little brother. Show me. Show me now,” Henry said, and Yaxley used what was left of the broom handle to draw a map on the ice.

  “We’ll take you and see if you can make him come back up. You and yourn brother can beat it after, but then we dob it to the king. I do this because you’re an Orfin. I wish I could do more, but I got to look after mine.” Sissel lowered her voice. “The king ain’t well and you need to know it. Once, I saw him jump on a man’s chest until it was a whole mess and lie down in the ruin of him, splashing blood over his self like he was just bathing. Sang Row-A-Boat, like it was the sweetest bit. You don’t want to be about him. He’s sick.”

  “I already know why my parents left this place. Knew it the second I laid eyes on the clown in the patchwork clothes. Knew it again when I found my lot dead. What they do to you and yourn ain’t right. This whole place you’re from, it’s all sick and I ain’t even seen it yet,” Henry said.

  “True. Take a whole lot to cure it.”

  “Maybe killing one man is enough. Or just them that did what they did.”

  Henry wondered if Sissel was curious about him and whether deep down she wondered what he had seen, further out on the ice so far from her home and skills Henry had acquired to survive. Henry knew, in another circumstance, there would be lessons they could teach each other which they would all benefit from.

  Skindred disappeared.

  Under the ice was a glimpse into the past unlike that of stepping into the preserved ship. Vast structures lined the roads: the ghosts of homes and office buildings, shops and other places of work or recreation. Most were still standing, but a number had collapsed, whether in time, from age and corrosion, or during the rising of the waters, when the world changed and the new age had begun.

  The daylight penetrated where the ice-holes had been cut above, which put eerie spotlights onto the city below and kept a cover of darkness in between, where things might lurk, until nightfall pitched all into uniform black.

  There was a pulley system under the water, for bringing up relics in baskets. There was one near the entrance of the tower where Martin was residing and it had been agreed that he’d be placed in one of the baskets and hauled to the surface, if he had no energy to make the swim himself.

  A carpet of sand covered the floor at different depths, but on some of the streets, lines of cars could still be seen; an eternal wait at the traffic lights that still hung above. A shoal of fish blocked Henry’s way, then darted in unison around him in a hurried commute to the next junction.

  Henry had taken the deepest of breaths as he’d entered the water. He was capable and knew there were pockets of air awaiting that had been well described to him, but the realization came that he was at the point where the air in his lungs was enough to go forward only and turning back had less chance of survival. He put it to the back of his mind and kicked harder with his legs.

  Two of the Orfins accompanied Henry; Florrie and Q-Tip. Sissel would’ve joined them, but she had not been long out of the water herself and the temperatures could be fatal. Henry thought of her as he swam close to the building he knew Martin to be in thanks to Yaxley’s map.

  Florrie signaled to an opening where a window had once been and Henry followed his companions through it, finding himself in what had been a dining area and kitchenette. A useless television still hung on the wall and a skull rested on an imposing sofa that faced it. Other human bones lay scattered about a marble table-top and the mire that had taken shape in the spaces between over more than a century.

  An eel swam from an open kitchen cupboard into another, startling Henry – to the amusement of Q-Tip, who signaled with a thumbs up. They swam through an open doorway into a hallway which no radiance ever reached, then up a flight of stairs where the water stopped two-thirds of the way up.

  The three of them caught their breath on the concrete landing in near darkness. The ice above hinted at subtle light in irregular spots that made it possible for their eyes to adjust enough to see each other’s silhouettes, which was something. Henry had never held his breath underwater for so long before and had panicked near the end as the gloom engulfed him by the stairwell.

  Florrie spoke first. “Cunk did good. I thought he’d drown. You didn’t drown, did you, Henry?”

  Henry shook his head, sucking air into his lungs whilst adjusting to his surroundings. His hands and ears were especially cold, but the rest of him was perfectly warm. The suit from the ship’s cargo seemed to regulate heat somehow. In contrast, he could hear his cohorts shivering from their efforts to guide him to his younger brother.

  “Told you he had something in him, didn’t I?” Q-Tip replied, “The eel nearly made him shit though.”

  “Where’s Martin?” Henry managed, still gasping.

  “There’s a hole in the floor a way down there,” Florrie said. “The ice is about four feet above us, so we need to be careful when we get up. Don’t want you knocking yourself out under here. We crawl until we get to the hole, then plunge in. It’s a short swim through a void in the wall. Si? Then you head straight up through the ice after us. You ready?”

  The thought of the ice being just above them sent a shiver down Henry’s spine. He felt claustrophobic all of a sudden, aware that it wouldn’t be impossible for the ice to break and crush them, or the building to shift and fall into the abyss below like others had, or the waters to rise and drown them. He never would have attempted the feat they were undertaking had Martin not been part of the equation. The fear he had felt in the engine room of the container ship now seemed minuscule when weighed against the dangers he’d cast himself into. He was in the realm of the sea creatures; the sharks and other nameless, unspeakable things. He was the bait in the bucket, lowered to attract the predators of the deep. He was fodder, and they would catch his scent in the currents.

  Henry had no choice now. Either way, he needed to get back into the sea that surrounded him. He had to be brave, and lend some of that bravery to his little brother. This was his real Ritual. His real test and judgment. The incident with the snow leopards was now a pleasant memory, partly because it included Mary.

  Henry followed along the corridor, guided by the sounds of Florrie and Q-Tip shuffling away from him. He heard the water ebbing gently in the pool ahead of them before he saw it. It was the ceiling of another desolate part of the building, and it had caved in at some point on the room underneath.

  “Here we go.” Florrie whooped and leaped in first.

  “Be careful, cunk. Don’t snag your ass on the rubble at the bottom. Adeus!” Q-Tip said before he dived in after Florrie.

  Henry took a breath and willed himself to follow, feeling marginally safer with the Orfins in the water than forlorn in the corridor without them. He entered the water carefully. Q-Tip was just inches away, but barely visible in the murky spectrum of browns, grays and greens, disturbing silt and sand as he went. Henry followed him through the fissure in the wall, where the water looked clearer and outlines more perceptible.

  The next accommodation had a bar area, defunct and forsaken, with glass bottles strung upside-down, lining the opposite wall. In the center of the space stood what was left of a pool table and a mangled spiral staircase leading to what had been a mezzanine. The pool table was covered in a blanket of mussels and other shelled creatures; a mass protest against any new game being played upon it. Fish swam in and out of the side pockets, some fleetingly curious, but most uninterested.

  Henry saw light above them that Florrie had already reached, where the ceiling vaulted. She disappeared through it and Q-Tip followed. As Henry approached, their hands reached down and the Orfins hauled him from the water into the glow of a new room.

  Ten

  Grotto

  “Is he dead?” It was Q-Tip who asked the question, and the echo ricocheted around them.

  The original ceiling was invisible. A thick seam of ice obscured it like it had in the darkened hallway, and stalactite thorns dangled imposingl
y from it. Henry instantly thought of Martin’s cave, and although this place held less light within, it still had the same stark beauty.

  “I don’t think so,” answered Florrie. This time the children weren’t talking about Henry, who hauled himself from the water and scanned the hollow. He couldn’t see him at first, but as his eyes adjusted once more and he followed the Orfins’ gaze, he saw Martin laid out in the corner of the room with his hands crossed protectively over his chest.

  Henry rushed over, sliding on the ice into position next to his brother. Florrie remained where she was, rubbing her arms and legs to bring warmth to them, while Q-Tip, ever the salvager, returned to the water to search the area below the mezzanine.

  Martin looked like a ghost. He wore undershorts and nothing else. His flesh, colorless and indeterminate with the ice on which he lay, was covered in a mass of goosebumps. It still shimmered from the fat he’d been covered with for his initiation plunge. The boy stared at the ceiling, as if he could see through the ice into the penthouse above. Only his cracked lips moved, though no sound came from them, and Henry saw that they had a blue tint. Henry was troubled at how ill his brother looked, somehow appearing worse than a corpse, with less color in his skin. Henry thought of the backgammon pieces carved from bone. Even the memory of those held more color. Only his hair remained the same flaxen hue it always was.

  “Henry?” croaked Martin feebly. Barely a whisper. It seemed the effort to speak Henry’s name had caused the young boy pain. Henry was upset at this, though he tried not to show it. Martin was in a worse state than he’d anticipated.

  “Hello, nipper,” Henry replied, smiling.

  “Are you real?” said Martin, turning his face slightly and meeting Henry’s eyes for the first time.

  “Yes. I’ve come to take you home.”

  “Mother’s looking for the bairn. I can hear him crying, but she doesn’t see. I do. He’s nearly walking proper. He likes me, because I’m his big brother. He’s around here somewhere. I just can’t fathom…” Henry wondered if Martin had witnessed what had happened to the baby.

  “Martin, we need to get you out of here. It’s very cold.”

  “I’m tired, Henry.” Martin smiled. Even the smile appeared to cause him discomfort.

  “Let’s get you up into the warm. You can rest when you’re safe and dry.” Henry wiped the first of his tears away.

  “I was supposed to fetch something. It’s how the salvagers get their food. Mother knows…”

  “Come on, nipper.” Henry tried to scoop his brother into his arms, but the boy flinched in pain. Henry wondered if Lanner had struck him at the homestead, or whether it was just the cold, or the hunger, or whether he’d hurt himself getting into the cave, “You need to come back with me, Martin. You can’t stay here.”

  “I like it here. It’s my cave. I finished my carving of Mother. I’ve done the whole family. Look!” Henry looked at the space behind him. It was bare, but Martin’s transfixed gaze showed that he believed the faces of their family smiled upon him as he had re-imagined each of their likenesses. He was delirious. Henry had no idea what to do.

  Q-Tip appeared from the water with a bottle from the bar and several mussels prized from the surface of the pool table. It gave Florrie and Q-Tip something to do and they worked at opening the mussels and removing the cork of the bottle with their bone blades.

  “You can wear my anteek clobber. It will keep you dry and warm. I will hold your hand all the way and we’ll get you out of here.”

  “I’m sleepy. I need to rest my eyes. Behaga.” Please.

  “Please, Martin-brother. Come with me. I need you,” Henry pleaded, but he knew deep down that Martin wouldn’t survive the swim back to the surface.

  He thought about death then. What was the crueler death of the two? Giving the boy hope, then watching him drown? Or staying with him in his cave, holding the boy until the time came? Henry recounted his own panic from his swim, believing at one point that he himself was going to drown. Drowning was a horrible death.

  He knew the answer before Martin responded, and had already resigned himself to that fact that he would remain for as long as it took. Martin seemed to grasp the change in Henry’s thoughts and lifted his head slowly.

  “Will you tell me a story? So, I can sleep?” Martin squeezed his brother’s wrist weakly. Henry nodded and helped his brother get comfortable. He felt a lump in his throat and thought he’d be sick, but he wanted to keep calm for Martin; to lead him gently into the light in the kindest way. “Tak,” Martin added. Thank you.

  Henry lay next to his brother and draped an arm across him. He thought of the igloo where they slept beside each other for so many years, and of their late-night talks, mainly questions that Martin had had about the world. Henry remembered picturing the boy’s expressions while they spoke, even though they often slept with their backs to each other. He knew his brother’s face so well, he could’ve sculpted it into the ice himself if he’d had the mind to.

  Martin’s body still felt cold, but he’d stopped shivering at least. The goosebumps remained on his skin, but the boy appeared comfortable, breathing gently, smiling as he stared seemingly through the ice above once more, as if the sky was inches above him. Henry kissed his brother on the forehead, then began.

  “There once was a world of light. The sun in that place was warm and the ice was no match for it. The land was green all over and trees grew wherever they felt like it. As many trees as there were stars. Trees that had food on their wings, so none had to hunt, or harm any seal pups. People wore man-mades that they had no need to kill for and the world was good. The animals lived with the people. There were so many animals that you couldn’t name them all. People were kind and they all lived together. Families and families. More children to play with than you could ever imagine.”

  Henry paused, feeling a pang of guilt. How often had he played with Martin of late? He had not given him his attention or time for a while. Especially since the discovery of the yot-boat.

  “There was nothing to fear in the world of light, because everyone had what they needed. All had possessions and wanted for nothing.”

  Martin smiled as he listened intently, no doubt picturing everything his brother was describing.

  “People say the world of light disappeared. But it never did. It’s still out there, you just need to find it. There, the ice never came. There, the ice stayed away, because it was no match for the sun. The people still live with good hearts in great numbers. The sun is still kind and it blesses all. All you need to do to get to the land of light is picture it in your head. Close your eyes tightly and see it in the darkness. Once you see a speck of light, let it get bigger and bigger and pour all over the dark. When you see the light, run toward it. Run as fast as you can and don’t stop until the light is all around you and you find yourself standing with the sun warm on your face and the wind at your back.” The little boy lay smiling. “That’s all you need to do, Martin. Find the light and run toward it. There you will find Mother and Father and the bairn, and I will meet you there. We will have adventures and we will sing and laugh under the sun. Never cold again. Never hungry. Never frightened.”

  There was silence in the cavern, and the boy lay still. Henry did the same and waited to see if Martin’s chest still heaved. He waited a while. All was still. Martin had found the light and run toward it.

  Henry sat and mourned, then released his brother from his arms and got to his feet.

  “God natt, Martin.” Good night.

  Florrie and Q-Tip had been listening to the story.

  Henry kissed Martin one final time and closed his eyelids with his hand. “Goodbye, Martin, min lillebror.” My little brother.

  “Sono, garotinho,” said Q-Tip softly. Sleep, little boy.

  As Henry approached the two Orfins, they looked at each other awkwardly, seemingly unsure what to say to him. They bowed their heads, then Florrie took the lead and clumsily put her arms around Henry. Q-Tip did t
he same and the friends embraced him together, comforting him as if he was one of their own.

  Before Henry leaped into the flooded chamber below him, he took a final look at his brother and his majestic grotto. He looked peaceful and beautiful in his catacomb, the oil spread on his porcelain skin twinkling in the penthouse light.

  Eleven

  The End of the Beginning

  As Henry hauled himself from the water, still numb with grief, he was grabbed by the hair and pulled onto the ice. Henry saw only the man’s boots at first, but then he glimpsed white fur stained red and recognized it immediately as his father’s coat. The demon clown.

  Henry stood, swinging his arms wildly until Lanner, laughing, let go of his hair and pushed him effortlessly away with one arm. Lanner had brought five of his cohorts with him, who were enjoying the spectacle whilst brandishing their weapons. Several carried bone blades, and one even had a cleaver. One held the leash of a horrifically disfigured pack-dog and another held a makeshift snowboard upon her shoulder.

  The dog snarled, a string of drool abseiling to the ice floor. The children inched away from it.

  “I take it the little one won’t be surfacing any time soon?” Lanner sneered, looking to the other adults. “And I imagine you found what we left for you back home?” Henry leaped forward and charged Lanner before the man had a chance to repel the assault. Lanner grabbed Henry’s arms, but Henry head-butted him. It hurt him probably as much as it hurt his opponent, but Henry was still on the attack with his fists despite the pain.