Light from Aphelion 2 - Tears of Winter

by Martine Carlsson

  From a pocket under his tunic, Josselin pulled out two biscuits. It wasn’t much, and maybe it was cruel to lengthen the man’s torment, but to let conscious people starve to death was beyond him. Therefore, he had smuggled a small supply from his kitchen to share around during the day.

  Puzzled, the man tilted his head, his gaze fixed on the delicacy. He flitted his nostrils, and, hesitant, reached for the biscuits. Josselin gave them to him and accompanied the man’s unsteady hand to his mouth. As the biscuit crumbled under his lips, leaving tiny morsels in his unkempt beard, the man’s eyes shone with gratitude. Josselin smiled at this rare sight of humanity, laid his hand on the man’s shoulder, and stood up to leave him rest. The door leading to the hallway opened, indicating that the nurses began their service.

  In search of Brother Benedict, Josselin left the room. A cold draft from the gaping main door refreshed the air. In front of him, someone went down the wooden stairs from the upper floor. Though willing to do his tasks, Josselin avoided that place. Held by only a handful of nurses, the rooms above hadn’t welcomed new patients for weeks. All had been done to isolate the area from the rest of the hospital. Still, once in a while, a small bundle would leave towards the courtyard. A nurse turned the corner of the stairs. In her arms, she held two corpses piled on each other and wrapped in blankets. She nodded to him and headed out.

  “There are only a few left.” Brother Benedict appeared at his side. “Most of the ones we rescued came with a sick parent. Families abandon the elderly, the spouse, the relative, but not many leave their small children behind.”

  Josselin thought about his own loss. Their baby had received love and care until its last moment. What did these ones receive? Nameless victims unaware of their fate. Instead of a mother, the cold hands of devoted fanatics. Instead of a shroud and prayers, tattered rags and the moans of strangers. And they were only a handful. How many had died at home behind closed shutters against the womb of their mother? Josselin hoped with all his heart that, in that case, the children had succumbed first. He knew that if it weren’t for the schools, the loss at the hospital would have been more than fifty or so. Only the newborn had been struck by the carnage.

  Josselin turned to the monk. Sweat shone on his waxy skin. Each of his breaths was an effort. The strong smell he gave off made Josselin feel uncomfortable.

  “Follow me,” Brother Benedict said with a hissing voice. He took a few steps towards his office. “Today, we will sort the last…” The monk broke into a coughing fit, stumbled, and held on to the door jamb.

  “Let me help you,” Josselin said, grabbing Brother Benedict’s other arm. The meagerness of the limb under the thick frock surprised him.

  He led the monk into the office and helped him lie down on an unkempt, provisory bed. Josselin guessed it was where the monk had passed these last weeks, making himself available to anyone in the hospital, whatever the time. He passed his hand over the monk’s brow. It was burning. A pitcher stood on the table. He filled a mug with water and returned to the side of the bed.

  “You are too old, Brother. You should have rested,” Josselin said, handing him the mug.

  “I am the only doctor left,” Brother Benedict panted. The water swirled in the mug as his hands trembled.

  “Well, it also means that without you, this hospital has no doctor left. Let me take care of you.” Josselin went to remove the monk’s frock, but the man pushed him back hastily.

  “No,” Brother Benedict exclaimed before he strangled in a cough again and fell back on his bed.

  Dazed, Josselin understood. “How long?”

  “A few days,” the monk answered. “I have to make the most of my time before it’s too late.”

  Josselin wetted a cloth and moistened the monk’s brow. “Exhausting yourself will only hasten the symptoms. I can take care of the sick. There is not much medicine left to do.”

  “You don’t understand,” Brother Benedict panted. “I’m not talking about taking care of the sick but about sorting our provisions. We haven’t seen the worst yet.”

  “What do you mean the worst?” Josselin asked. How could the situation get worse than that?

  As they spoke, Josselin forced the monk to remove his frock. His body was lean, drenched in perspiration, and small lumps grew under his armpits. Fortunately, he had seen how the monk had proceeded these last days. Without any protection for himself, Josselin washed the monk’s torso to refresh him.

  “Urian and his men reported that there is a blockade around the capital,” Brother Benedict told with a quavering voice. “We don’t receive food anymore. The transactions have been interrupted to preserve the outside world. Besides, if some convoy passed the gates, the gangs would loot everything. Every entity, every family now lives on its own supplies. Supplies that they wasted the first days the epidemic broke when they thought they wouldn’t survive the night. Now the cellars are empty. And this is winter.” Brother Benedict paused. “The watch mentioned that there are fewer fresh corpses in the streets than before.”

  Josselin stopped his hand. “You mean there are fewer people dying because the population has been brought down,” he said to reassure himself, knowing the monk hinted at something else.

  Brother Benedict stared right at him. “The people starve. I have seen it during the war, but not on such a scope. When a body loses the nutrients, the person changes. Hunger leads to irritability. Therefore, we have had so many riots in the streets. But when starvation strikes, the mind loses control. The men become feral. They lose their humanity.”

  “We have already witnessed crimes of all kind in the city,” Josselin said.

  Brother Benedict snorted. “When I was in the Rebellion, we crossed a village once. It was in the middle of winter. The desolation made by the orcs had spread through the countryside. The people of the village had fled, leaving ruins behind. In one of the houses, we found a couple. The wife was sick, and thus the couple had been left behind. Their legs were swollen. Their wan skin scaled in bits. Their ghastly sunken eyes stared at us with dread, and they tried to attack us with sticks, thinking we were orcs. When we found toys and a cradle, we searched for the children. We thought they had starved to death until we found the spared body parts in the pantry, smoked like game. The soldiers were so filled with loathing that they put the couple to death. When I asked the woman why, her answer froze my blood.” Brother Benedict looked away. “‘We could always have done more,’ she said. ‘We could have done more.’”

  As I too can and will, Josselin thought. “They had no choice,” he muttered as he lanced the monk’s buboes. Brother Benedict winced but let him empty and clean the wounds.

  “Not if they wanted to live,” Brother Benedict carried on slowly. “But think of what sort of choice this is. And now, ponder this. Who do you think died until now? Those who refused to sacrifice others. Those who wouldn’t steal, kill, or prostitute themselves. The ones who gave their bread to others, who took care of the sick. If the good people died first, who will survive this hardship?”

  “This is a bleak vision, Brother,” Josselin answered. “The strong, the cunning, the brave will survive. We will survive.” I am not weak, Josselin repeated to himself. Shouts from the hall called him back to reality.

  Josselin got up and left the office to see what caused the hubbub. In the doorway, men of the watch were in vivid discussion with the nurses who tried to expel them with violent moves.

  “Move aside, or we will make our way in ourselves!” one of the guards shouted with a hand on his sword.

  “What’s going on?” Josselin exclaimed as he drew nearer.

  The nurses didn’t deign to give him a glance, but the guard who had spoken turned towards him, relieved to find another interlocutor.

  “Sergeant Pitsfield, my lord. We have wounded men. But above all, I need to talk to the person in charge here. The commander is on his way. Where is Brother Benedict?” The guard asked, taking a step further.

  “Brother Benedict
is sick, but I will receive you,” Josselin said. “Let them in,” he added towards the nurses. With his hand, he invited the guards to follow him inside. Still, the nurses kept blocking the way. “I said, let them in,” Josselin repeated, irritated.

  “This hospital is a place of peace under the protection of the gods and will have no business with these men,” one of the nurses said.

  “And I am the authority in charge here,” Josselin hissed. “So, return to your tasks, or I will ask the guards to kick you out and arrest you for disturbance.”

  Not eager to test the gods’ protection against the swords of the guards, the nurses backed away. The men of the watch entered the hospital. Some carried their injured companions on their shoulders while others searched for necessities to fix the bleeding wounds. The situation outside must be alarming for the soldiers to prefer to seek help among the sick rather than in their own quarters. The sergeant followed Josselin into Brother Benedict’s office. At the sight of the monk, the sergeant’s face fell.

  “This is the end,” Sergeant Pitsfield muttered and paced the room. Brother Benedict stared at him, half conscious.

  Urian burst into the office. “Good you are here, Josselin,” the commander exclaimed.

  “What is going on?” Josselin asked.

  “The gangs have united to take over the control of the city. Their first move will be against the hospital. They hope to eradicate the pestilence by turning this place into ashes.”

  “Why don’t they concentrate their forces against the gates?” Josselin asked.

  “The gates are heavily armed, and the blockade outside prevents anyone from going out. Their only hope is to eradicate the disease and sack the capital. Once this is over, they will present themselves as survivors. Survivors who will feast on the remnants of this city. Many areas held by communities of commoners or artisans’ guilds still resist, but they won’t be a match once the gangs take over the watch.”

  “I can’t believe they want to exterminate the rest of the population,” Josselin objected. “We talk of thousands of people. This is madness.”

  “They don’t need to exterminate them. Only to control the population by terror. The nobles’ power is weak. This is their chance to take control.”

  “What about the Crown? The king?” Josselin exclaimed.

  Urian stared at him, his mouth twisted. “As hard as it is for us to admit it, the king is gone. It’s over, Josselin. There’s only you and me now.”

  “You are from the slums,” Josselin said. “Why don’t you take your chance?”

  “I am commander of the watch. I sit on the high council. This is my chance. Why should I roar at their side when you, as a noble, don’t hide in the palace with the others? The king may be gone, but the law still stands. I will crush that mob to the last of them.”

  Josselin looked at Brother Benedict. The monk was unconscious. His eyes had sunk, and his lips, as smirched with soot, parted to sip the air. Josselin put his hand on his shoulder and squeezed it. Deep inside, he hoped the buboes would heal or at least give the monk some rest during his last days. This place didn’t need the gangs to be wiped out. It would eventually happen. It was only a question of time. The law might stand, but they had already been judged and condemned.

  “I only have one hand,” he said. “Can you spare a sword?” Josselin wanted to make himself useful. He would exchange the porringer for the blade.

  Urian smiled and gave him his sword. “Follow me.”

  Josselin and Urian went out and joined the company of guards gathered outside the hospital. The men checked their mail and prepared their materiel. Overturned carts and barrels were used to build barricades. Casks and wooden boxes obstructed the alleys.

  “Will we prepare ourselves for a siege?” Josselin asked.

  “No. A siege would be useless. They want us all dead. They would destroy the building,” Urian answered. “We must prepare ourselves for an assault, but we can arrange the ground to our advantage.” Urian hailed one of his sergeants. “Reinforce the courtyard. Have the sideway doors locked, and post sentinels in the alleys nearby.”

  “Yes, Commander.” The soldier hurried towards the back of the hospital.

  “Is there something I can do?” Josselin asked.

  “Wait,” Urian said. “I don’t know when they will come, but the later, the better.”

  Josselin had to disagree with that. If his time had come, he wanted to face it now. I’m only a man. Don’t let me reach the moment when I will doubt of myself and crawl like a coward.

  37

  The dog trotting by their side, Kilda and her companions straggled across the sea of snow. At the head, Louis and Selen got their bearings with the help of the long needles of ice and rock, thus avoiding progressing in circles. Kilda couldn’t tell the peaks apart and feared the moment they would cross their own footprints. Albeit they had enough luminosity to know it was day, no light pierced through the vastness of ominous clouds. Here and there, a white flash in the sky announced a storm that never came. With every step, Kilda felt like she would never make it back. She would wander this barrenness, die along the way, and continue roaming as a ghost. She refused to look behind, knowing it would crush all will she had left. For a reason none could explain, the dog had shown up on this side and with the bag of food. Yet, though the food might delay their starvation, they weren’t less condemned. Nothing daunted Louis, but his actions had made clear that he didn’t expect them to return. Not all of them, at least. Should they find something, someone had to make it back with the cure. For a while, Kilda had pondered who would be that lucky one and hadn’t come to a conclusion. At the same time, she wasn’t sure she wanted that person to be her. What waited for her in Nysa Serin but death and ashes? Josselin was dead. The thought shattered her heart and brought her to tears. Thus she tossed it in the depths of her conscience. Still, she was sure of it. After such a long time, none was left alive in the city. Why would she, who had never had any luck in life, be spared one more sorrow?

  Kilda lifted her head and stared at the back of the royal couple walking in front of her. They know it. That’s why they don’t want to make it back. They know nothing will be left standing.

  A fine hail grazed her cheeks. Kilda made no attempt to cover herself more with her scarf. Her nose had been burnt by the cold and peeled. Mucus had run on her mouth until she got tired of wiping it and was now congealed in the wool of her scarf. Her scar, though old, was a searing pain. She wasn’t the only one who frost had partially disfigured. Her companions bore frostbites, and their lips were cracked like an arid ground. However, none of them would leave more than their eyes unprotected. Kilda knew they were right, but she didn’t care. I’m already ugly. Who cares if I get uglier? Let the gods take my skin. They already took so much from me.

  “Look! What are those things?” Selen asked.

  Squinting, Kilda stared in the direction Selen pointed. Strange cows, squeezed against each other, looked at them from a low hill. Their several layers of black fur coats were powdered in white and wafted on the gale. Large horns curved to the front of their heads like the ones of rams.

  “It’s muskoxen,” Louis said. “We better leave them alone.” He gave a tug on Selen’s hand, and they resumed their walk.

  The wind gusted. The hail cut deeper. A storm got up. A bit further, a large stone stood upright. They hurried towards it.

  “We need to take shelter,” Selen said, pitching his voice higher than the wind. “We can use the stone to remember our direction.”

  “Won’t we freeze if we stop?” Louis asked.

  “If we don’t stop, we’ll get lost,” Kilda said.

  “This is no shelter,” Eliot said. “We must move on.”

  “No, wait! This is no shelter, but we can do like animals,” Selen insisted. “We can bury ourselves in the snow.”

  “I’m not dead yet,” Eliot growled.

  “No. Selen is right,” Louis said. He got on his knees and dug the snow. �
�Help me form a ring and raise walls.”

  Working together, they made a pile and dug a tunnel in its center as deep as they could. Once they had a circular base large enough for all of them to fit in, they consolidated the walls around and left a tiny opening for the air. The structure’s elements couldn’t be called blocks. The form couldn’t be called a dome either. Yet, the snow was hard enough to hold in the shape they wanted, and soon they found themselves inside a small, dark cave where none of them could stand higher than on his knees.

  “And now what?” Kilda asked, sitting on her heels.

  “Now, we wait,” Selen said. “And we hope the dog doesn’t run into the wall and crush down everything.”

  The reassuring feeling of a shelter calmed everyone’s temper. In a concert of snuffles, they sat down against each other, the dog in the middle. Kilda sat on one side with Eliot. She didn’t feel comfortable in a stranger’s hold, but the voluminous layers of clothes prevented them from any intimate proximity. From the bag of food, they took a biscuit each and shared dry bacon. Icicles had formed in the wineskin. It tasted horrendous, but it was better than nothing.

  At the ingestion of the liquid, Kilda felt a need she had dreaded for some time. She understood now how Louis had felt when in the hills. There was no way she would release herself outside and risk frostbites on her sensitive parts. She had to wait for the men to sleep and use her mug. She wouldn’t need to hold back long. Exhausted, Louis already slept in the embrace of Selen, who dozed against the dog’s neck. Eliot tapped his bag and prepared himself to sleep, while the dog whined with contentment, blissful to be in their company. Listening to the howling blizzard, Kilda waited.