Ice: The Climate Fiction Saga

by Wendeberg, A.

  Katvar grins wider, points to Uma who sits up in her bed, somewhat shocked. She crawls on all fours to Javier, checks his breathing and looks relieved.

  ‘He’s sleeping,’ she whispers in my ear. ‘Barktak gave me something and I slipped it in his food. She kept joking about not being sure about the correct dose.’

  Katvar taps his knuckles against my shoulder.

  I look up at him. ‘You are leaving?’ I ask, confused at what he’s signalling to me.

  ‘You go with him,’ Uma says. ‘And Birket.’

  The chief is already standing by the door, whispering in Ogak’s ear. I didn’t even hear Birket move.

  Uma tells me that Ogak will keep an eye on Javier, then she signs to Katvar, too fast for me to understand. I catch only one word: hands flat on chest, move forward as fists — trust.

  The chief stops at the entrance to the log house. ‘You are the first outsider to witness a gathering.’ He points at the dog skull nailed to the door. ‘You must know that this is a guard. It wards off lies and pretence. If you dare bring them in, people can smell their stink. We value honesty above all else, especially here.’

  Suddenly, I don’t want to go in, because, honestly (did I really just use the word “honestly?”), I don’t want their help anymore. I’ll say my thanks and leave.

  Birket pushes the door open and heat lays itself over my face like a blanket. I gulp a mouthful of air and step inside. It’s the first time I’ve entered the log house — the ritual centre of the small village of yurts.

  Men and women are seated in a circle on the floor. A circular hole in the ceiling swallows tendrils of smoke. A large fire burns at the centre of the room, spitting sparks up at the night sky as if to add stars to the milky way. Birket picks up a staff that seems to be reserved for him alone, then taps it against his fur boots.

  A man to his right stands, walks up to the fire pit and throws a handful of dried herbs into it. Chanting crawls through the open space between flame and people. Bitter-sweet scents make me woozy. I’m growing hot.

  Someone taps my wrist. I turn and spot Katvar; he nods to a space just ahead of us. We sit and I stretch my injured leg.

  There’s movement, wavelike. A large jug is passed from hand to hand, mouth to mouth. Katvar takes a sip, then holds the vessel out to me. I sniff. Sharp and smoky. I tip the liquid until it touches my lips, then pass on the jug without drinking.

  An elbow makes sharp contact with my side. A hiss and a shake of his head — Katvar tells me he caught my cheating.

  ‘You don’t know our customs.’ Birket raises his voice. ‘But here in our House of Thought, we are One. If one lies, we are all liars. If one cheats, we are all cheats. We honour each other with sincerity and respect.’

  He looks at me and there’s only warmth and friendliness in his expression. I feel ashamed at once.

  Lowering my gaze, I reply, ‘I will not drink this.’

  ‘There is no harm in drinking it. Everyone is sharing this sacred infusion.’

  ‘Now it’s you who is lying. I smell ledum in the brew and in the smoke. It’s also called wild rosemary.’

  ‘We use sage, small amounts of wild rosemary and henbane in our rituals,’ he explains, not losing his calmness.

  ‘I will leave now.’ I stand.

  Katvar frowns, but doesn’t protest. He just sits there, wondering what’s wrong with me.

  ‘What do you fear?’ Birket’s question hits straight at my chest.

  ‘Where I come from, kids are sometimes drugged with these herbs so they don’t scream so loud when they are raped. Unless the rapists fancied screaming kids. Some did, others didn’t.’ I cough to clear the constriction from my throat. ‘I will not drink this.’

  Shudders travel through the room.

  ‘Thank you for your honesty. You don’t drink tonight. Sit, please.’ Birket nods at the woman who has held the cup since I handed it to her. She drinks and passes it to the man next to her.

  Katvar tugs at my wrist and I sit back down. Birket nods and lowers his head. Silence falls.

  ‘You were overheard,’ the chief begins.

  I stare at my boots. Sweat itches on my forehead and skids down my temples into my fur collar.

  ‘You said to Javier that the BSA plans attacks on all arms manufacturers in Europe and Asia.’

  ‘They don’t attack the industry, they attack the people who control it so they can take over the production,’ I reply.

  ‘We know. We’ve been observing BSA attacks for awhile now. You also said the BSA has full control of satellite. What is satellite?’

  ‘Excuse me?’ I squeak. ‘You what?’

  Birket taps the ground with his staff and people begin shedding their coats and boots. I’m sweltering, so I take off my coat, too. More herbs are thrown onto the embers, more smoke crawls through the room. I cough.

  ‘We are the Lume,’ says Birket, holding his head high. Everyone nods solemnly. ‘It means “people”. And then, much more. Earth, cosmos, creation. We are part of the Earth, the Earth feeds us, the Earth creates us. When we die, we feed the Earth. We are the Lume and we do not tell outsiders our true name. The others know us as the Dog People. Part of you is now a part of us, because you take what we offer, and you will take much more. We’ll feed you in the months to come. Honour our gifts and give back to the Earth.’

  Birket stands tall and proud in the centre of the room. The fire illuminates his sharp features. I have no idea where this is going, but it can’t be anywhere good.

  ‘We hunt and we trade. We have done so for many generations. We are not the only ones.’ He looks at me and adds, ‘There are many clans like ours, spread from the land of the Great Bear to the Southern Seas. We are family.’

  Katvar’s shoulders stiffen. I gaze at him and find pain in his eyes.

  ‘There is a reason for us to hunt with bow and arrow, Mickaela Capra. We have observed the decline in supply of ammunition and weapons, we have seen the takeover of arms manufacturers by the BSA. We have talked to other clans and they report the same. The BSA burned down our winter quarters. Four of our wives and five of our children were murdered. Twelve men died in battle. We wouldn’t have changed our way of hunting so completely if not for this. We are stockpiling our ammunition, so we can use it against our enemies when the time comes. Mickaela, what you see today is not what you saw two winters ago. I might add that this seems to be mutual.’

  I nod. I’m not the naive girl they met last time I was here.

  ‘I must ask you two questions now and you will answer sincerely. What is satellite and what were your plans until Javier accused you of treason?’

  I’m not sure if I’m supposed to stand up or remain seated. I choose the latter. ‘Satellites are large instruments that orbit our planet.’ My fingers point up at the ceiling. ‘They were shot up there long before the Great Pandemic and the World Wars and they can take images of Earth and other planets. They don’t fall back down, because they are…um…spinning fast like a rock at the end of a cord. Their presence has been kept quiet by the Sequencers for decades. They can see how the weather changes, they see forest fires, people, soil moisture, sea ice thickness, and much more. They can transmit signals — that’s how Sequencers communicate with each other. They have SatPads to transfer data via satellites.’

  People mutter and blink up at the sky that shows through the smoke hole.

  ‘You will have seen bright spots travelling across the sky,’ I add. ‘They look like…stars on a mission.’

  There’s nodding and more muttering. I lower my head, hoping to convey respect and humbleness. Inside my skull I hear Erik laughing, his mad cackling, his cold voice. Humans are sheep, you have to learn to lead them, to herd them. When they are of no use anymore, butcher them and recruit new ones. Breed only the best of them.

  The chief taps his staff again. Silence falls reluctantly.

  I continue. ‘My plan was to inform the Sequencers that Erik Vandemeer — former satellite exper
t of the Sequencers — is now commander of the BSA. He has organised and unified our enemies. He has sharpened a deadly weapon and he can see all of our movements.’

  A collective hiss rushes through the room. If I didn’t know better, I would say the smoke shuddered.

  ‘I had hoped the Sequencers would help me destroy the BSA headquarters and their main satellite control system.’

  ‘You gave Javier the locations?’ Birket asks.

  ‘No, I did not. He showed me that I can’t trust them anymore.’

  Birket nods. His satisfied expression gives me the creeps.

  ‘Why would this please you?’ I ask.

  He gazes at me for a long moment. The silence and the smoke are so thick one could cut them with a knife.

  ‘We believe the Sequencers are corrupt,’ he says.

  I lean back, utterly confused, and not realising there’s nothing to lean on to. I almost lose my balance, but Katvar’s arm curls around my shoulders, blocking the fall. I shrug him off.

  ‘You let them do their tuberculosis monitoring campaign so they don’t suspect what you suspect or…’

  ‘Yes and no. We don’t believe all Sequencers are corrupt. Most are fine people. But something seems to be off in their command structure. There have been reports from other clans.’

  ‘What reports?’

  Birket inhales. A worry line forms between his eyebrows. ‘Locations of secret gatherings that only the Sequencers and the clans knew about have been attacked by the BSA. Many died.’

  Goose bumps race up my neck. ‘I am very sorry. I had the same suspicion when Javier told me how little they knew about the battle in Taiwan. But then… The problem is that Erik can intercept and manipulate communications between the Sequencers. He can feed them fake data without them realising it comes from an external source.’

  ‘But you said the BSA commander is a former Sequencer. This supports our theories of corruption. You also spoke about an espionage unit. Tell us more, please.’

  I sigh. ‘I wish I could say more, but all I know is that this unit exists, that most Sequencers don’t seem to know about it, and that Erik Vandemeer was recruited by this unit to infiltrate the BSA.’

  ‘Is it possible he still works for them?’

  ‘Hell, fuck no!’ A deep, guttural laugh rolls up my throat. ‘He has too much fun ordering his men to lynch, stone, and burn people who are not to his liking.’ Maybe I sound too cheery, maybe sarcasm is lost on these people tonight. A gasping makes the rounds. Faces pale. Some of them look furious.

  Abruptly, Sal stands and begins to speak. ‘I do not understand what satellite means. We’ve all seen the traveling stars and we’ve had our own theories. Now a stranger tells us the BSA uses them to watch us. What can we believe?’

  Birket faces Sal and says calmly, ‘My friend, it matters little what you believe. Mickaela has seen it and she is set to take it away from the BSA. Am I correct so far?’

  A sharp glance in my direction. My breath stalls. ‘Yes,’ I croak.

  ‘Besides,’ Birket says to Sal, ‘what she tells us fits with what we already know. I believe we can trust the information she’s giving us. We cannot, however, trust that the information she withholds is altogether insignificant.’

  Sal frowns. He doesn’t seem to like his view of things challenged.

  ‘Sal,’ I say. ‘I found your new winter quarters. How do you think I did this?’ I point up the smoke hole. Everyone gazes at the night sky, then back at me. That seems to have made an impression. People look like they’ve been carved in stone.

  ‘May I ask what your plan is?’ Birket says.

  ‘I’ll leave in the morning.’ My voice is clipped.

  The chief nods. ‘Good. You should share your plans with as few people as possible. But also with as many people as necessary. How far do you have to go?’

  ‘Far.’

  ‘How great is the danger for my people?’

  ‘The BSA will come to find me. You must leave in the morning. Move in small groups. Move when the sky is overcast, hide in the woods when the sky is clear. That’s your safest bet.’

  Birket nods, looks at everyone, taps his staff, and says, ‘We have to agree on one thing tonight: Do we help Mickaela or do we let her fail?’

  Quiet words are exchanged, increasing and decreasing in intensity, but no shouts, no anger. ‘Will there be war?’ someone asks, and another answers, ‘There’s war already, didn’t you know?’

  When conversations cease, hand signals are exchanged. All eyes are on Birket. He lowers his heads and says, ‘We will help you.’

  Everyone in the room hums agreement. Birket lifts his gaze. ‘It is close to midnight now. We have until dawn to get Mickaela away from here and arrange an escape for ourselves. I want Kioshi, Katvar, Sari and Mickaela to stay here. Everyone else: prepare to leave in the morning.’

  Katvar pokes me in the ribs with his elbow — an oddly trusting gesture. He nods at me, signalling that he believes all will be okay.

  The man is pretty naive.

  When only Kioshi, Sari, Katvar, Birket, and I are left in the hut, the chief says one word to me. ‘How?’

  ‘I will manipulate satellites,’ I answer.

  ‘You can do that?’

  I shrug. ‘Yeah. Erik taught me well.’ Which might not be quite correct. Erik taught me a ton about satellite control but I never trusted him enough to believe he would allow me to develop the skills to cause much damage to his empire. But he doesn’t know his second-in-command gave me the power to do so.

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Svalbard.’

  ‘Where’s that?’ Kioshi asks.

  ‘Arctic.’

  Birket huffs and rubs his forehead. ‘That is far.’

  ‘More than five thousand kilometres from here,’ I add.

  ‘Did you plan to steal our dogs and a sled?’ Kioshi asks, quite amused. ‘Yes? The dogs would have starved to death and you would have died. I doubt you would have gotten farther than one thousand kilometres. That’s not even a fifth of the journey.’

  Heat rises to my cheeks. I had indeed considered stealing a dog team and a sled. ‘I spent a lot of time watching Earth from above. Most of my plan is based on memory. I don’t have maps…’

  Sari stands, tells us to wait, and leaves. A moment later, she returns with a handful of maps and unfolds them on the ground. They are a bit tattered, with holes where the folds are, and the outlines of the continents a bit faded. Birket lights an oil lamp and moves it close, revealing names of cities, rivers, and mountains.

  With my index finger I draw a path over the wrinkled paper. ‘I’ll go straight up north, leaving the blown nuclear power plants of Khmelnitski, Rovno, and Chernobyl far to my right. At the border between Lithuania and Belarus, I’ll move northeast until I reach Novgorod. Might get a bit hairy there and I’ll have to make sure my navigation is accurate, because I need to squeeze right between the Kalinin and the Leningrad nukes. Each had five active reactors when they went into meltdown. They are three hundred kilometres apart and I’ll have to walk right through the intersecting safety zones. There are more areas that are radioactively contaminated, mostly from the wars, but I won’t get close to any of them.

  ‘After that, it’s easy. I’ll either travel through the tundra or along the coast until I reach the Pechora Sea, then I’ll cross to Yuzhny Island, get to its northern tip and cross the sea ice to Spitsbergen. That’s a total of five thousand kilometres and then some. The crossing between Yuzhny and Spitsbergen is a thousand kilometres. The frozen sea is the main problem. It has been ice-free for decades with only a few exceptions when the winters were extremely cold. Under normal conditions I could have paid a fisherman to get me across, but now…it will be hard. This winter is exceptionally harsh — the ice will be a metre or two thick and it probably won’t melt until April or May. I have three months to get there. If the sea ice doesn’t buckle like crazy, it’ll be a smooth journey across. I’ll do my thing and then come back and
return your sled and your dogs.’

  Katvar squints at the map. Birket seems amused.

  After they mull over my plan, Katvar taps his finger at the lowlands between our location at the northern edge of the Carpathian Mountains and trails it all the way to Lake Onega north of Leningrad. ‘Dangerous,’ he signs.

  ‘Yes. One-thousand seven hundred kilometres of fuck. No people, lots of wild dogs, wolves, and bears. Within a radius of two hundred kilometres of the nukes, all game is radioactively contaminated. But I’m good. I survived the BSA. No problem.’

  I hope I sound convincing enough that they’ll let me leave with a sled, dogs, and provisions.

  ‘Have you seen anyone — settlements, hunting parties —from…above?’ Katvar’s hand freezes in midair. The concept of satellites zipping around Earth and taking images is something he can’t seem to wrap his head around. I used to have problems with that high-tech stuff too. Now they are nothing but a dangerous nuisance.

  ‘I’ve seen several hunting parties in the tundra. There’s a city at the Dvina River, about a hundred kilometres from the White Sea. In case I break the sled, or need anything, I’m sure I can barter there.’

  He cocks his head and signs something I don’t understand. Sari translates for me, ‘What exactly will you do in Svalbard?’

  ‘Destroy the BSA’s most important communication hub.’

  He swallows, lowers his head, and signs, ‘I’ll help you.’

  ‘I am the Chief. I have the last word in this.’

  Katvar’s fingers go back up in the air, flying and spitting out words in Birket’s direction. Sari turns them into sentences for me. ‘We need two sleds with twelve dogs each. Eight to ten can pull. The others are reserves. We need snow shoes, snow goggles, a tent, furs — lots of them. We need items we can trade — pots, pans, knives, longbows. It will take two to three months to cover five thousand kilometres. Does the ice reach all the way from Svalbard to the mainland?’

  ‘The sea ice has been solid for more than six weeks now. I’ve seen it.’ I wave up at the starry sky. ‘I will go alone.’