Ice: The Climate Fiction Saga

by Wendeberg, A.

  When I enter Birket’s home, the warmth inside feels much too hot for me. Steam, chatter, and the aroma of stew fill the yurt. People are seated around the small stove that is about to buckle under the weight of an enormous pot. A bowl, filled to the brim, and a piece of flatbread are pushed into my hands. Birket laughs and talks so loud, I think he must be drunk.

  I eat my dinner and feel laziness soak my bones. I realise that I didn’t think of my weapons for most of the day. I didn’t think of war. It comes down hard on me now. I take in the happiness, the smiles women give men, the seemingly normal and good life. No one starves, no one is the slave of anyone, children are allowed to be children, and not made soldiers or wives.

  A flask is making the rounds. From the looks on people’s faces, the contents must burn in their throats. I wave the offered drink away and stare at my bowl. Empty. I touch my belly. Empty. My hand strays to my chest. I can feel the heartbeat, but still, it feels empty there, too. Abruptly I stand and leave the yurt.

  Sal bumps into me. It’s the first time I see him smile. ‘Just left Raven’s. He traded furs for ale a month ago. Ale’s gone now.’ Sal grins even wider and I can smell the alcohol on his breath. I’m about to step back from him, when he nods toward a yurt and says, ‘Come. You have to try the wisent cheeks my wife cooks. She makes them with a honey crust.’

  ‘Honey?’ I’m baffled.

  ‘Yep. She knows how to find bees and how to harvest honey. Got stung only once. She’s the best. Love her. My wife.’ He staggers through the snow as if he’s forgotten I’m here. Then he turns and blinks at me. ‘Coming?’

  I nod. I’ll definitely not say no to honey crusts, with or without wisent cheeks.

  Sal’s wife is a round and short thing who can bark anyone’s head off. I squeeze myself into the back of the yurt, a sliver of food in my bowl, and inhale the scents of rosemary, honey, and fried meat.

  My mouth waters. My fingers pick at the hot meat and just as I put some of it into my mouth, Sal’s wife comes stomping across the room and chucks another, much larger piece, into my bowl. ‘You need to fatten up!’ she hollers. Everyone but Sal stares into their bowls and chuckles. Sal just looks…lovestruck.

  I stuff more food into my mouth. I can’t believe the abundance of so delicious a meal.

  Drinks are passed around, but I decline. I sip my hot tea until I’m sweltering. Before I combust, I say my thanks, pull my hood over my head and step out into the snow.

  Sucking in the crisp cold air, I begin to feel what must be healing. I bleed only a little these days and my ankle doesn’t protest with screams of pain when I gently put my weight on it. My body mends. But I’ll never stop expecting an attack. Peaceful as my days may seem, war is coming. The Dog People just don’t know it yet. The question is: will I warn them?

  When I walk back to Birket’s yurt, I hear a cough. I turn and spot the dark shape of a man of about my height. He lifts a hand in greeting.

  ‘Hey, I was on the way to Birket’s…’ I trail off when I see him stare at my throat. Because of the warmth in the yurts, my coat is unbuttoned and my shirt a crack open at the top.

  Katvar reaches out to touch the ivory dog. A knuckle rests against my skin. Warm on warm. Calloused on soft. A current zips from there through my entire body and my reaction is instantaneous.

  My left hand grabs the front of his coat and shoves him hard while my right hand slips the pistol from my thigh and my left leg hooks around his right. In less than a second, he is flat on his back, air punched from his lungs. He coughs. The muzzle of my gun rests between his eyes, my knee is on his chest. Hell opens her gates and pours her shit over me. I’m terrified and I don’t understand why. Katvar has never raised a hand against me. He can’t even raise his voice. It seems as if, slowly, my brain contracts to its normal functionality, and my shocked, wide-open senses settle to the low-danger mode, to a perception less sharp and aggressive as rational thinking gradually trickles back in.

  What flickers in Katvar’s eyes is anger, puzzlement, and more. There’s knowledge. He has witnessed the transformation of woman to monster. He’s learned to not trust the veneer.

  I flick the safety back on and stand. I don’t know what to say. But maybe words aren’t necessary. Katvar knows now that I’m not the same person he met years ago. I untie the small leather band around my neck and slip off the ivory dog. I give it one last glance before placing it on his chest. He doesn’t move when I turn to leave.

  I find solitude at the edge of the village. The half-moon is perched atop snow-covered firs, its halo of ice crystals shimmering from white to blue. I sit in the snow, with my coat keeping me warm and my thoughts keeping me cold. I have to make an effort at being human. I don’t know for what, though. I’m a warrior, people should know better than to mess with me.

  Boots trail softly through the snow. Katvar casts a shadow over my chest and holds out his hand, palm up. With his other hand he signs, but I don’t understand a word.

  He writes it into the snow for me, drops the dog into my lap, and leaves without waiting for a reply. I don’t have one anyway. It would mean explaining the whys and hows. But I won’t go there.

  The moon illuminates the glittering outlines of Katvar’s message: ‘I made it for you. It’s yours. If you hate it, throw it away, but don’t throw it at me.’

  Elena runs up to me. Her yellow braids stick out of her fur hood, her nose and cheeks are gleaming pink. Her white teeth show her excitement. She cranes her neck to look up at me, tugs at my hand and squeaks, ‘Come quick, the Sequencer is here!’

  I force a smile as my stomach drops and my thoughts drift to Runner, Ben, Yi-Ting, and Kat — all dead. The guilt weighs much heavier now with a Sequencer nearby, someone who will know what happened in Taiwan. I feel as if I’m about to meet my judge.

  Elena stomps ahead toward Birket’s home, fur boots kicking up the fresh snow and producing creaking noises. I follow in silence. We step through the entrance and find the chief and a stranger sitting cross-legged on furs. The man is probably in his forties or fifties — it’s hard to tell. His face is lined but his eyes seem to be those of a boy. There are a few strands of silver in his brown hair that’s only partially covered with a wool hat. I feel an irritating urge to push his drooping hat back in place.

  He spots me, nods at Birket and says, ‘The chief told me you wanted to meet me?’

  ‘Yes. My name is Mickaela Capra.’ I step forward and hold out my hand to him. ‘I have information for the council.’

  He gives my hand a short squeeze and huffs. ‘For the council? What information?’

  Something about his tone ticks me off. I roll my tongue around in my mouth, wondering what it could be. Detachment? Arrogance? For a second, he looks at his hand before he drops it into his lap. The Dog People usually don’t touch strangers and the Sequencers know that more than half of the people here have tuberculosis.

  ‘I doubt TB is transmitted by a handshake,’ I say. ‘I’d probably have to stick my tongue down your throat for that. What’s your name?’

  He coughs. ‘Javier. Are you infected?’

  I shrug, wondering what I might have caught in the BSA camp. ‘How would I know? You can test me if you want.’

  ‘There’s tea in the pot, Micka’ the Chief says in a low voice. He wants me to take it slowly, to be polite to his guest. I give him a sharp nod and fetch three mugs and the pot. No one talks until I’m seated and the mugs are filled.

  I clear my throat and begin, ‘I must ask for forgiveness, because I will give you only as much information as I believe necessary. Some details, I cannot reveal here. Other details I won’t even reveal to the Sequencers’ espionage unit.’ Javier’s gaze flickers to Birket and back at me. He gifts me a cold stare.

  I continue, ‘Yes, I know about this unit, although I’d only been an apprentice for a few months when my mentor Runner McCullough was killed together with the rest of our unit on Taiwan. We discovered that the BSA was setting up headquarters o
n the island and we believed we could take them down. It was a trap, the BSA commander blew up the nuclear power plant. He killed everyone. My friends. His own men. This was two years ago.’

  ‘How did you survive?’ Javier asks. There’s little but mistrust in his voice.

  ‘I was offered a lift.’

  ‘Specify.’

  ‘The BSA commander knew that only Runner and I were left alive. He arranged for a helicopter to leave the island before radioactive ashes and rain came down. He needed an appropriate wife for his second-in-command and I fit the bill. I took the chance to spy on the BSA. And I left Runner…to die.’ The atrocities hang in the air between us, shutting everyone up for a long moment.

  ‘You abandoned a friend,’ the chief says and I nod. There’s really no other way to put it.

  ‘I need to corroborate your story,’ Javier says and pulls his SatPad from his pocket.

  ‘No!’ My hand shoots out and slaps his wrist. ‘The BSA have hacked our satellite controls. They tap our communications. Everything Sequencers say to each other via satellite is monitored. They can see every bit of data you guys exchange.’

  His hand sinks back into his lap.

  A corner of his mouth twitches. ‘I must look quite naive to you.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter how you look to me, mister. The moment you ask about the battle in Taiwan, the BSA’s tracking program will ring the alarm. If your exchange with whomever is on the other side of that thing,’ I poke my finger at the SatPad, ‘points to me in any way, the BSA will nail down my location within minutes. They’ll board an aircraft and get here within days, if not hours. They’ll kill everyone.’ I look at Birket to make sure he understands the threat posed by Javier and his instrument, and the danger I brought to his home. ‘Javier, do you really want to make me believe that you never heard about the battle in Taiwan? Because this allows only two conclusions: you are either a liar or extremely uninformed.’

  ‘Is there another way to contact your people?’ Birket interjects.

  Javier rolls his shoulders and bends his neck until it crackles faintly. ‘It involves a six-day hike,’ he says softly and picks at his fingernails, forehead crinkled, lips compressed. ‘I’ll rest today and leave tomorrow morning. If I may impose on your hospitality.’

  ‘You are welcome in my home,’ Birket says.

  Does he not see that Javier is lying, that the man is itching for fresh information, that his eyes and fingers ache to touch the SatPad? Stunned, I stare at Javier, then at the chief.

  Birket stands and says, ‘My help is needed elsewhere. Mickaela?’

  ‘Um…’ Confused, I rise and follow him outside, where he grabs my hand, signals me to be silent, and says cheerfully, ‘I just needed an excuse to see Seema and my son. Busy yourself with the other women.’

  He pulls me around the yurt and whispers into my ear. ‘We observe. Then we make decisions.’

  We wait for several long moments. Birket waves away a bunch of children who approach us, curious what we are up to.

  Then a soft voice, muffled by layers of fabric, reaches our ears. ‘Hey,’ Javier says, ‘I need information, quickly. Do you have anything on a battle in Taiwan two years ago?’

  I squeeze my eyes shut. So much stupidity in one person! Birket’s expression remains unreadable.

  ‘Give me a moment,’ a female voice answers.

  The chief and I wait, not taking our eyes off each other.

  ‘Okay, Javier. Short version is this: The BSA landed in Taiwan, cut off our comm with the island and a few weeks later everyone disappeared. A unit was dispatched and engaged the enemy. Everyone died in battle. The nuclear power plant exploded. Lots of rumours and unknowns here.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘It’s been rumoured ever since that the BSA might have hacked our satellite controls, but evidence is lacking. We don’t know what precisely happened in Taiwan and why the nuke would go into meltdown. It appears as if one of the two apprentices on location made an emergency call that moved our forces to Taiwan two days before they were supposed to be there. Before the last ship sank, we caught a distress radio signal that indicated the apprentice switched sides.’

  ‘What’s the name of the apprentice?’

  ‘Mickaela Capra.’

  ‘I see,’ Javier mutters.

  ‘No, you don’t.’ Before Birket can hold me back, I run back to the entrance and push it open. Javier is faster. A muzzle is pressed against my temple before I can even step inside.

  ‘You have your weapon in your hand already. Excellent. Makes laying it down on the ground so much faster.’

  He shoves the mouth of his pistol harder against my skull. I engage the safety and drop my gun. Javier bends his head ever so slightly. He’s holding the SatPad in his left hand; the face of a woman shows on the screen. I find myself wishing she were Kat. She watches me as Javier says, ‘Send reinforcements.’

  ‘How many do you need?’ she asks.

  ‘Send everyone,’ I growl. ‘Your brilliant Javier just gave away my location. The BSA will be on their way.’

  ‘Three men will suffice,’ Javier says and switches off his instrument.

  ———

  The view along the furs is nice, but my position is more than uncomfortable. My hands are tied behind my back. I’m on my stomach, neck twisted to the side. Javier sits across the room and reads my file yet again.

  ‘Not a single Sequencer knew you were with the BSA. Yet, you insist you were taken by them. Odd, don’t you think? I’m not even sure you are who you claim to be.’

  He and I are alone, but I’m sure someone is eavesdropping.

  ‘My implant was removed before Erik Vandemeer took me to their headquarters. He would be an idiot if he hadn’t neutralised the tracking device.’

  ‘You are lying. He couldn’t have known about the GPS tracking.’

  ‘I told you already. Erik Vandemeer worked for the espionage unit—’

  Javier interrupts me. ‘You said he worked in satellite communication—’

  ‘For fuck’s sake!’ I grunt into the furs. ‘He is a satellite communications specialist, he was recruited by the espionage unit to infiltrate the BSA. He did it so well that he moved all the way up the pecking order. He’s the fucking commander of the BSA!’

  ‘The BSA do not have a commander. They are not organised. They are radicals who spontaneously form factions just to dissolve them a moment later.’

  ‘Why are you interrogating me if you choose to not believe a word I say?’

  ‘Ugh, please! I’m not interrogating you. Mike will. He and the others should be here in six days. Better you tell me now what you know. You don’t want to end up under Mike.’ He wiggles his eyebrows like the nice guy he is.

  If I could stand up, I would punch his face. ‘Javier, do you really believe some spoiled Sequencer brat could extract information from a woman who survived two years at BSA headquarters? Do you really believe he could scare me? What does Mike do, Javier? Saw off fingers? Pull toenails? No? I didn’t think so. He would have to burn me alive to make me scream. So while you sit here with your finger in your arse, the BSA plans attacks on every single city in Europe and Asia that has an arms manufacturer. Soon, the BSA will control all weapons. They already have full control of the global satellite network. Plus, you gave away my location. That makes you responsible for the deaths of all the people here. Can you live with that? Oh, I forgot. You don’t have to live with it, because soon you’ll be dead, too.’

  He opens his mouth to reply, but I cut him off. ‘You said yourself that Erik Vandermeer was a satellite specialist. What do you think such a man would do the whole day? Tend to crocuses?’

  Javier’s expression darkens and he places his SatPat aside. ‘Mike uses drugs. You will talk. Everyone does.’

  I don’t reply. Talking to this man is a waste of energy. I turn my head aside so I don’t have to scowl at him. Time passes. Javier hacks away on his SatPat.

  ‘I need to pee,’ I
say.

  He stands and calls for Uma. She’s here in a flash. While he points his gun at me, she helps me stand. The three of us make our way to the edge of the village and I relieve myself behind a tree. When we walk back, Uma winks at me.

  Night falls, Birket and Javier agree on assigning one of the hunters to keep watch, because someone has to point a gun at me while Javier sleeps. Since the Sequencer arrived and accused me of treason and getting my friends killed, the climate in the village has cooled down significantly.

  I’ll wait until the yurt is cloaked in darkness. My mind shows me the precise location of my rifle, pistol, knife, and ammo, and that of Javier’s weapons, my ruck and a few provisions that could get me through two days as long as I’m frugal.

  I breathe slowly to calm my heartbeat.

  People settle down. Javier, waiting for his relief, sits on a pallet Uma made for him. He seems exhausted — his pistol is dangerously close to slipping from his hand.

  I’m still on my stomach, wrists still tied behind my back. The chief is already rolled up in his furs, snoring quietly.

  There’s a soft creaking of boots in the snow. Two people. That must be the relief. A rustling sound from the door flap. Katvar and an older man, I believe his name is Ogak, enter.

  Katvar walks up to me and bends down, busies himself with my ties. And suddenly, my wrists come free. I don’t dare move. I gaze up at him. White teeth flash in the dim light. He points to Javier and I twist my neck to look. Javier is out cold. I open my mouth and shut it, then sign what’s supposed to read, ‘What happened?’