Avarice Desperation Valley

Winter’s Grasp

Bennett’s wild clan had been reborn, thus began a new age of blood and terror waged from horseback. Growing increasingly bolder and stronger the warriors ransacked habitation after habitation with ruthless abandon. It was not long until every man had a mount of his own, and the raiding party reached its full, rabid potential. For miles about the hidden valley the sands ran red with shed blood, and settlements burned. Each successful conquest brought more wealth to the camp, supplies were replenished, more weapons added to the growing cache, and most importantly the men now had shared purpose.

Spring as always was brief, but there were some unseasonable rains keeping the grasses alive until late into the season. This was a great boon as the increasing number of horses were having a serious affect on the very marginal grazing in the valley.

Sven watched his younger brother cross the clearing to the cave, as he sat with Raissa who was tenderly brushing his long hair, his son sleeping contentedly by his feet wrapped in rabbit furs with not a care in this world. He had watched Aran evolve from a frightened youth at the war’s onset to what he was now, a confident, cruel barbarian, powerful and deadly, and he wondered if this was how it had to be, or could it have been otherwise?

Had he somehow failed? Sven sighed, he was not proud of this fact, Raissa paused, her rhythmic brushing then resumed, the sun and her ministrations felt good. That was all Sven had now were simple pleasures, at thirty-six he felt like an old man, but unlike most he had what no one had, a real family. That kept him going and filled him with pride. He took in his little son, golden haired and gray eyed just as he was, promising to teach him well, and defend him at all costs. He would work hard to make sure he was more than a mere barbarian, he would do a lot better than he had with his own little brother.

On those languid spring days that Aran was in the camp in between his murderous excursions Maya gave him much satisfaction. The tiny girl who barely came up to his great chest his constant companion, he found himself more often than not wallowing in desire. The young girl had quite taken to openly flirting with him, shamelessly so. Aran used Maya when and where ever it took his whim, multiple times daily.

He had pushed his pact with his brother to one side, and coupled with Raissa only on occasion, still with no result. Maya had now become the epicenter of his lust, and he engaged in it as a man who had no tomorrow. At night she would serve him flawlessly, then curl up against him as he drifted off to sleep by the communal fire. This night he smiled contentedly, stretching his tanned limbs lazily like a big cat as he settled down to sleep. Putting his arm about Maya possessively shrouded in his furs. It had been a tiring past few days of hard riding and physical exertion and he found he was of late sleeping very well if not for the strange dreams, visions that made no sense, and the sword, always the sword, the fantastic weapon he coveted but could never seem to grasp. This evening would be no exception...

*****

They were beautiful in a classical perfection, but not as the beauty in humanity was gauged. There was no frailty or imperfection here, just hard indifferent coldness. These beautiful people, if indeed they were people at all, stood and sat about a large highly polished table top in lively debate...

“Your son, your weak son! He has been well and truly sidelined and by a mere mortal! Hah! He couldn't begin to compare with Aurianne my daughter! She will be the one for sure.”

“Your daughter is weak, Axtros.” The tallest amongst them jeered, a simple diadem of silver adorning his blue black tresses that hung to caress the table’s shining surface. His hands fine and white, not those of one who had seen any menial work in his lifetime. The black nails long and edging to points like talons. “My lion of a son could take her any time he chose!” There were ripples of spiteful laughter from all the beautiful beings who reclined about the ebony table, their skin milky white, bodies slender, hair long and silken, eyes black, and features ageless.

“So why was it Choronzon that you should see fit to bestow a bauble of our world on that pathetic creature you sired? Is that not improper? Not that it has helped the dull witted creature at all.” More malicious laughter bearing the quality of discordant music arose from those about the tabletop.

“Oh you all boast such empty claims.” A lilting female voice raised above the others, beautiful and demanding. “My son will best all your miss begotten spawn.” She hissed. “He is smarter than some dull witted brute with a weapon, I mean honestly what were you thinking when you bedded that awful woman?” Again raucous laughter, long stemmed wine glasses clinked, filled with beverages of inky black, no wine of earth was being consumed here this night.

“Sheharizade?” The man, if he was a man with the diadem shot back. “Your precious son is naught but a scheming weakling like his mother, and unlike my son he has yet to prove himself. Not only that my dear...” His voice laden with velvet poison. “You cheat at the game...” There was a pregnant pause then the room erupted in a cacophony of voices and he could make out no more...

*****

Stephan and his people had not squandered the winter, nor the months of early spring, the elderly leader on this perfect day touring the newest of the fortifications. He pushed on through his weariness, leaning heavily on his staff, fatigue had dogged him in recent months, he was trying to will it away. The words of his guide no more than a distant hum in his ears. The usually astute man heard nothing of the explanation of the newest of the fortifications, but nodded as though he had, waving the man onward to show him yet more of the same. Stephan was unsure if he was personally ready for this war, he was aging and wished he could abdicate the position to someone younger, someone more vital to lead them. If only Renard had been here, the thought all but brought him undone, finding he had to pause for a moment, collecting his bearing and reigning in his mind.
“Are you all right Sir?” His guide inquired seeing his leader falter.
“Yes, yes, please lead on.” Was all Stephan could bring himself to reply.

The day was glorious, the warm sun and gentle breeze a joy to the heart, it seemed a bitter irony that in such a beautiful setting the specter of war was gnawing at his heels. They would come soon, they must, and with them the senseless destruction and the slaughter. Stephan was proud of his community, in the main they had all rallied to the cause.

Great defensive structures had been built in the central square, with lesser ones further out, protectively enclosing the huddle of houses that comprised this town. The wise leader had to admit this sprawling settlement and its buildings would be most difficult to defend, and during those early days of winter preparations this had seemed an impossible task. Walking the parapets atop his defenses this day he now felt they stood a very good chance of holding and protecting their own. Stephan had tried to instill in everyone they had to fight smart, they could not hope to prevail in open hand to hand combat with the superior soldiery of their enemy. They had no intention of meeting their enemy on the field. Archers would be positioned along the length of these walls, there were baskets brimming with all manner of missiles to be rained down on those below.

He watched the workers putting the last touches to the inward swinging gate that sealed off the center of his town completely, it was constructed of the largest pieces of hardwood they could procure, and it would not easily be breached. Many of the great trees that dotted the farmland had been felled in this costly war effort marring the landscape, and this year the joyous yellow fields of canola lay dull, fallow brown. The Wolf Lord’s crops had not been planted. This act of defiance Stephan knew would cripple his rival completely, but also bring certain war. There would be no redeeming this action. Stephan's old eyes searching the south and west wondering how soon it would take until he would parry with his enemy once more.

*****

Victor sat in his darkened chamber of horrors, illuminated by a single light bulb, the unflattering light making him look even harder, gaunt cheeks and high protruding cheekbones, fingering the unusual blade and wondering at its properties. It was of workmanship so extraordinary he had never seen its like, even in the fine live blades in Lothar’s extensive collection, some hundreds of years old. He looked closely at the stones set in the pommel and the guard, some were black yet scratched glass like diamonds, others were gray and opaque like polluted drops of water frozen in stone. None of them like any precious gems of this earth and all impervious to damage. This little dagger no larger than a child's toy an enigma to this very intelligent man.

He raised his pale blue eyes which were barely blue at all, and squinted into the darkness beyond the light. His captive lay heavily drugged and sleeping, and after what he had witnessed this day it was for the best. Victor always a skeptic and as an atheist had no belief in the supernatural, but he had no explanation for this man’s abilities. All he could wonder was could they somehow be harnessed for his own gain?

Again he looked down at the little blackened steel blade, this item somehow was the source of his powers. Without it the man was defenseless and almost, if not quite ordinary. He could raise fire from the earth, levitate objects, even in a very drugged state. Krosse was curious yet worried at what he might do if allowed his full faculties, but it was far too dangerous to do so. Perhaps he could serve some military use? Even that was unlikely, such power would at best be difficult to contain. Victor would just have to be content to explore his latest subject in these very controlled circumstances.

It was late he surmised, wrapping the blade carefully in a wad of scarlet silk cloth, slipping it into his coat pocket. Victor suppressed a yawn, turning off the lone light with a resounding click, plunging the room into blackness. Thinking it would be a good idea to get a few hours before his Lord’s summons at six a.m., he would need to be sharp.

He had slept little, but then he rarely did sleep well. Victor observed his usual pre-dawn ritual of allowing his slave girl to wash, shave, and dress him for the day ahead. Smiling at her lithe nakedness, the gentle touch, her auburn hair catching the light as did the metal circlets on her neck, wrists, and ankles. She may have been only a simple slave to him, but she was a delicious distraction nonetheless. Victor having to wrench his mind back to the present, he had no time to linger, grabbing his medical case and heading for the door. Every morning the routine was the same, he would attend his Lord, mouth his unfelt niceties and leave. Today he already knew it would be different. His Lord only invited him to breakfast when there were issues of magnitude to discuss.

Past the guards at the door he went, past the ivory statues and the paintings, the rich carpets muffling all sound, and into the dining hall. Lothar was already seated, his house guard stood impassively behind him motionless. The table was spread with all the usual finery. Krosse bowed one of his shallow bows and greeted his Lord with a smile he did not feel. Lothar motioned him wordlessly to be seated, from nowhere an attendant appeared pouring Victor his tea just the way he liked it, black and sugarless.

“I trust you are well my Lord?” Krosse inquired sipping the hot tea, the servants laying out various cold meats, bacon, eggs, oatmeal, and breads for the early morning repast. Lothar coughed into his napkin and looked at his advisor as he took his first coffee of the day along with the myriad of brightly colored pills.
“The new cook is surprising good.” Lothar remarked helping himself to the oatmeal and garnering it with liberal amounts of very precious honey. It was almost a display of pure gluttony.
“Yes, quite.” Krosse answered, taking a piece of toast topping it with scrambled eggs and bacon for himself. For some moments nothing more was said, the two men quietly eating their meal. Victor was careful to let his Lord break the silence with the issue he knew would surface. Lothar called for another refill and dismissed his servants, even his house guard. So this is a serious matter then Victor thought readying himself.

Once the room was vacated Lothar commenced to speak of his issue. Leaning forward catching Victor’s eyes with his own earnest ones. “I think it is time to call in the divisions from the south Victor.”
“Why so?” Replied Krosse, enjoying his tea in the fine bone china. “The men are making great gains there as you have seen.”

Lord Lothar did not tear his eyes away from his second in command. “That may be so but it has been brought to my notice by the engineers late yesterday that the supplies of bio diesel are beginning to become a concern, we will have to begin rationing soon.”

“Oh.” Was all Victor said caught off guard. It would appear that this issue did indeed slip past his notice, and he was ruffled that he had not been approached with his before Lothar had. Lothar pushed his plate to one side rubbing his cheek unconsciously in a decisive effort to make the nervous tic abate, it often assailed him when he was passionate about something as he was now. “I cannot allow Stephan’s embargo to continue, it will imperil us all. We have to enforce he plants those crops and NOW!” Lothar spat the words and thumped his solid fist on the table. The china rattled. Not these histrionics again Krosse sighed inwardly, no hint of his annoyance peeking through his unruffled veneer anywhere to be seen.

“Yes, my Lord indeed we shall.” Victor assured with outward smoothness. “I will recall our troops in the field immediately, and we shall prepare to go to war. We shall take the farmland by force if need be, and force every man, woman, and child, to plant those fields. First, I will send a scouting party, they can make a thorough reconnaissance and we will see what the situation is precisely so we may plan.”

“Good Victor, I expect you to.” For an infirm man the voice was steady and menacing, and Lothar’s eyes betrayed not a hint of weakness. Victor sensing his audience was at an end rose to leave, wondering at the strange mix of respect and dependance these two men had on one another. They had been friends once, now it seemed to Victor it had become more of a game of mental chess and the friendship had dissolved into mere tolerance; bowing and exiting the chamber, as always glad to be gone.

*****

It was early evening, and the end to another clear, fine day. All in the cave were not privy to the striking dark clouds that were amassing to the south. The last of the apricot rays of sun hitting them in a most spectacular sunset, the light fighting the dark on a battlefield of rampant color. The two sentries noticed the unusual weather as they sat out their watch, something about it was unnerving and unnatural. The clouds too dark, the weather from the wrong direction. Earlier that day there appeared to be a deep singular rumble, like that of a blast, or severe thunder. Many had commented on it but could see nothing out of the ordinary.

Todd now sat on the large boulder worn smooth, the soil around it barren and packed hard by hours of watchers sitting just as he had. Most up here saw nothing, only the occasional bird, or rabbit broke the stillness of most days, though the wind up here could be savage on occasion. He rolled a cigarette and rubbed his eyes, it had been a long and uneventful watch but the clouds on the horizon compelled him. He sensed trouble.

Father Andrew felt the same leaning on his staff from his post on the northern side, he could not tear his eyes away. Right hand straying to his battered bible tucked in to his tunic, his source of inspiration and comfort all these long hard years. He felt his heart pound in his emaciated chest. I am an old man he thought, I have lived long, I will not fear, scratching at his chin absently through his generous white beard. His gnarled hands brown from the sun, yellow nails jagged and torn permanently embedded with dirt from the garden. The old man breathed deeply, clutching his staff closer to his body, feeling God’s word under his hand pressed against his heart. This fortified him, and he felt closer to his maker. Father Andrew would not fear for himself, he was one with his lord, but he did fear for the others. Yet, he could not say why.

The darkness drew in as the eerie cloud cover advanced, the watchers came in from their posts to be relieved by others who would stay up top for the long night vigil. No one enjoyed this duty, yet everyone there understood how vital it was. Todd and Father Andrew spoke of what they had witnessed, most passing it off as an approaching severe storm, not at all out of the question for this time of the year.

That night there was no storm as such, just an eerie quiet and the stars winked out one by one blanketed by heavy cloud. The inhabitants below did not feel any alarm in their warm cave, like many things of great magnitude they go unnoticed only revealing their true terror in the passing of time. In the subsequent days the skies grew darker, the days became as twilight, the temperatures steadily dropped. All began to feel gnawing unease.


Aran woke, he had been dreaming again, it felt late though the quality of the light suggested it was still early dawn, it was oddly disorienting. The last few evenings Aran had taken to the habit of bedding Maya in the mainly disused warriors quarters seeking privacy. The tiny girl slept deeply beside him, warm in his embrace, he stroked her soft skin. In response she wriggled closer and sighed in her sleep, burrowing further into his warmth.

He was startled to see plumes of his breath as it melded with the frigid air, in late spring it never got this cold, and unease tugged at him. Aran rose, dropping the covers over Maya’s diminutive form, to be assaulted by the cold, forcing him to dress swiftly, pulling on his leather trousers, boots, and wrapping his fur mantle about him he ventured outside, not at all prepared for what would greet him. Hand resting casually on the pommel of his dagger as he stood framed in the doorway, a voice echoed off the steep escarpment, fanatical, booming. “I TELL YOU IT'S THE APOCALYPSE!” Father Andrew shouted. “THE LORD’S FINAL JUDGMENT HAS COME!”

The warrior took a moment to compose himself, light snow fell catching in his hair and the fur of his cape, melting on his warm skin, he could hardly believe it was real, he had never seen snow in his lifetime. Aran cast his green eyes upward squinting through the barrage of icy flakes, the sky overhead was ominous and of the steeliest grey, not a break in the clouds yet he figured it to be midday, though not a trace of sun permeated. There was not the faintest stir of wind, the snow falling directly downward and melting on the still warm earth.

Aran was not the only one gazing on this spectacle, most had left their beds and shelters to stand mutely looking skyward, Father Andrew’s strident words reverberating, cajoling all for their sins imagined or real. Bennett emerged in the maw of the communal cave and strode purposefully toward the old man, seemingly unaffected by the strange weather, he had eyes only for Father Andrew.

Those around him parted as their leader sought his target, the fanatical preaching came to a halt, the sound of a fist hitting flesh hard. The old man falling to the earth with a thud, his staff rattling with a hollow sound on the stone, the battered bible coming to rest some feet away in the dirt, those about him frozen in a tableau of silence. Marcus usually placid growled at Bennett and gave him a challenging look, going to his friends aid when no one else dared. Bennett in an artful movement drew his pistol aiming it squarely at the simple man’s head, he would have no compunction in finishing the slow-witted brute off. Marcus was little more to him than a beast of burden.

“This is not an act of God!” Bennett roared into the silence. “Listening to the ranting of this foolish old man will not get us anywhere. I will not have this in my camp. Take him, silence him, and put him with the other prisoner. I will hear no more of this understood!” His words were like steel unflinching and unfeeling, as was his command. In spite of this their leader had not assuaged any fears. Sven came through the stunned crowd to do his leader’s bidding, he too knew this old man’s fear mongering would serve no purpose other than to divide and imperil the camp, it was in everyone’s best interests he was silenced.

Father Andrew had been as his own flesh and blood, loving Marcus unconditionally as a son when most had only spurned him for his mental deficiencies. Always patient and kind and in Marcus’ eyes very wise, he adored this old man. Marcus was as strong as the greatest men there in the camp, the strength in his mere body a weapon and today he had decided his best friend and beloved Father needed him, and he would not be found wanting. The old man looked diminutive and frail cradled in Marcus’ brawny arms bleeding from a gash on his forehead when he had fallen, the blood staining his white hair. “I’ll look after you.” Marcus cooed fussing over the fallen man protectively looking into his rheumy eyes.

Sven thinking nothing of this made to wrest the old man from his grasp and Marcus exploded in an impassioned rage, not caring a gun was pointed at his head. Father Andrew tried to halt him in a thin voice but it was already too late, the single well placed shot had taken the pure life in a heart beat. The massive man sunk to the earth his face in a pool of fast congealing blood.

Bennett sheathed the gun nonchalantly. “There will be no more of this foolishness.” He added, walking away from the silent crowd shivering in the snow. Most said nothing and drifted away, some of the slaves openly wept, Raissa included. Sven seeing this ordered her to leave, he would have no one from his family embroiled in this matter.

As Will and Todd took Father Andrew away he cried hardest of all, his heart broken, the death of an innocent on his hands. The old man was gagged and interred in the forbidding enclosure of the cattle trailer with its other shivering inhabitant Renard. Marcus’s death reinforced to all the precariousness of their positions and lives. Most before the coming of this strange winter had even begun to feel comfort of sorts, but that had now evaporated and fear reigned ruling their lives once more.

Aran crossed the open space through the departing crowd toward his brother, a mantle of white snowfall accumulating on the shoulders of his vast cloak. None noticed Nathan as he took the bible from the dirt and smoothed down its crumpled pages with his elegant fingers, tucking it into his heavy navy blue overcoat. The two golden brothers were left alone standing in the snow flurry over the large body of Marcus. Sven looked at Aran and Aran gave him a wry smile in return. “I guess we get to bury him huh?”
“I guess?” Shrugged Sven and the two men set about the task.


In the subsequent dark days there was an underlying current of unease in the encampment. It was now too cold to sit out any kind of a watch, and it had been abandoned. All reasoning that any likelihood of an attack in this inclement weather was slim. The cabins had been vacated also, all the prisoners had to be relocated to the rear of the cave, chained to one another and a large immobile rock for fear they would perish from the cold.

With no other form of heat but the communal fire all were forced to sleep in the great cave. Many spoke in hushed tones, fear was paramount as stifling as the heavy cloud cover. The crops were all dead, the neat rows of corn turned to icy green sludge as did the squash plants. All the chickens too had perished from the cold, and the goats, cows, and horses were faring poorly. Soon there would be no more for even the wily goats to eat if this weather did not abate. There were still those who believed steadfastly in the words of Father Andrew and the good book. It was spoken of in hushed tones in the way sailors would speak of a mutiny. However Sven had another theory, and in his mind it was a more fearsome one than that of an angry God seeking repentance.

He voiced it to the warriors the evening after he and Aran buried Marcus, he was one of the eldest of the men, and he had served in war and knew of its reality. All sat about the welcome warmth of the fire, still a chill pervaded the cave as it never had in times past. Sven sighed knowing what he was about to say would surely incite much stress and panic, yet it had to be uttered. He took another drink of the warm milk in his tankard and pulled the hide about his shoulders snugly before speaking. “I had always figured this would have happened at the start of the war, but as most of you can remember there was never the volume of nuclear attacks we thought there would be. Sure there were some, but the majority of the war heads were never deployed. I’m not sure how or why but it appears now that they finally have been.” There was an audible murmur but no one interrupted. “I think what we are seeing here is a nuclear winter, the dust from the explosions has blanketed the sun, and until it lifts which could be many months it will be cold and dark and everything will continue to die.”

There was a loud murmur at the idea of this. “What will happen to everything if all the plants die?” Will blurted out, at once sorry he had voiced his fear aloud.
“So there is radiation?” Lucy interjected forgetting her slave status completely, Warren plucking nervously at her sleeve motioning her to quiet. No one noticed, it seemed everyone had a question, a fear that needed to be let out and in no time the entire population were freely talking over and amongst themselves, status quite forgotten.

Seeing this Bennett stood, his very movement calling an abrupt halt to the cacophony echoing off the walls of the great cave. Carlos was huddled in a blanket at his feet, the listless man barely looked up, glazed black eyes fixated on the fire. Bennett never uttered a word but raised his hands for silence. All obeyed and he was gratified to observe the halfwits death had been a good example to all.

Sven continued, trying to answer the multitudes of questions to the best of his ability. Bennett resumed his seat, his hand wandering to his captive to caress the warm yielding flesh beneath the blanket. Bennett was concerned, but had already decided there was little he could do to alter the outcome, it was just as it had been an uncertain world after the war where only the strongest and boldest could triumph. He would save his energies for that.

Aran did not say a word but watched his brother, they had both spoken in private of this event and its ramifications, all of which were bleak for some days now. Like Bennett Aran would not fret, he would take each day as it presented and deal with it in turn. Maya listened to the growing hysteria but seemed not to care for the argument either, she would have her questions answered by her man this night in the darkness, something deep within quivered deliciously at this thought. She brought him yet another choice piece of the cow they had slaughtered admiring his rugged handsomeness, his hair beautiful in the firelight like golden brass. Aran took the proffered morsel, touching Maya gently as she settled back under the vastness of his cape.

“I don't see what is to be gained by staying here? We should go south, there might be others there if what you say is true, cities, and a better way of life.” Lucy stated, her hands set firmly on her solid hips, she might have been a slave but in arguments like this she always forgot her station.

Sven glowered at her, his gray eyes catching the firelight, it seemed many others here thought as she did. It had been a sentiment for some time, and now the crops had clearly failed and the animals were weakening, the ties to this place of shelter were weakening also.
“That there might be.” Sven answered her. “But to do so would be folly, we are still better off out here. I've been there, there is nothing but death and disease and radiation sickness in the south. The people who inhabit it are quite mad. I have seen it with my own eyes. The water is poisoned, there is no food. Only a fool would go back there.”

The arguments wavered back and forth, with no clear winners, Bennett did not intervene but studied his people carefully gauging who was interested in what course. It seemed even some of his men wanted to try to go south, had they so soon pushed aside the terror of seven years past? Human nature and the ability of denial sometimes amazed him.

Finally he stood motioning again for quiet. The faces that surrounded him were for the most part lost and searching. All looked to him, this hard man in their midst. A tyrant, a murderer perhaps, but they needed his firm guidance and what was more important, his words. “We stay for now, Sven is right, to go south is to walk into the mouth of death. We will gather our stores and go on one more raid before the horses fail. We can last here for many months, maybe even a year. You heard Sven, the cloud will lift by then and who knows what fortune will provide us with?”

Raissa looked down at her fussing child, as a mother she was a natural, but it would appear that even her talents would be tested. At three months Eirik was strong, but keeping him warm of late had become an art form. If he was not pressed close to her swaddled from the cold in his rabbit furs, he was close to his father’s body warmth. Fortunately Sven did not shirk this task, he saw as plainly as Raissa did they would both have to work together to ensure the survival of their precious little boy. Raissa was also very thankful her husband’s desire for another child had not been answered, and with the lack of privacy Aran had ceased to bed her completely. At last she felt somewhat safe.

With Marcus’s death the men had a new unthought of responsibility, it was true he was no longer needed for the heavy work in the garden but no one had credited him for the constant provision of firewood, and with the growing cold more and more was consumed. Now it fell to the warriors to provide this warmth, many of them resented this essential task. Some not at all amused at Bennett’s decision to waste a man who had done all this heavy work in the background. This small thing had begun to undermine the warriors satisfaction, no longer feeling like the ruling class when faced with having to do their own menial tasks. Aran and Sven could see this plainly, and went to work cutting wood to provide an example to the others, but Bennett so self assured of his brutal rule never once did lift a finger to do this duty. Much of the remaining scrub was felled the poor slimy frost bitten leaves being fed to the livestock, and the branches burned.

Raissa stood looking out at the bleak twilight, it should be mid afternoon she mused. What she would not give to see the sun again even in its hellish desert fury it was preferable to the present. She could see the men Aran included felling more trees to burn, the animals milling about them hungry for whatever forage they could get. She pulled her blanket closer about her shoulders and went to check on Father Andrew, it was a depressing business, he was old and she was sure he was dying. After losing Marcus he had finally given up. He had refused food and water and she did not even have the comfort of his bible to offer him.

Renard looked up at her, he was still handsome, even his unkempt appearance could not mask the man he was. Raissa smiled. “How is he today?”
“Not great.” Renard replied, eagerly taking the food she had brought for him. These conditions he now found himself in had in the past days lent him new hope. If cold had been the common enemy, to him it had been a friend, and he was going to use his new situation to gain his strength and plan an escape. Things did not seem as hopeless as they once were.

Raissa put her hand on the old man’s forehead, he did not even open his eyes at her touch, his pulse was fleeting. She sensed he did not have long. She sighed, heart heavy and pulled the crumpled blanket up about the waning man, that he might at least be somewhat warm. “I’ll watch him.” Renard assured her in his quiet, confident voice. Raissa again smiled and she left sensing Renard was not like these other men, no he was nothing like them at all.

Sometime that night Father Andrew did indeed pass away without a word to any who might hear. The next morning he was buried next to Marcus on the edge of the forlorn garden patch where they had spent the majority of their days, with no one to read a few lines of comfort from his beloved book.

*****

The occupants of the valley were not the only ones fraught with worries. Stephan had many of his own, the cold had extracted a heavy price also from his rich farmland. Crops withered and died, as did much of the poultry, and the young calves and lambs. Just as Father Andrew had there were some of the biblical amongst them expounding God’s great demise for the sinners among humankind. Stephan heard it all from his advisors and as he walked his town in the bitter cold against the advice of his wife and his physician. However he felt it important to go and be seen amongst his people at this time, even at risk to his own health, he was their leader after all and he had to project an essence of calm.

It was well past midnight and even though Stephan was very tired he sat as he often did in his library by the light of a single candle, of late he had taken to reading passages from the bible himself. Not that he might embrace the works of God, but that he might have the information to know and deal with his enemy if the need arose. He was a Christian as most here were, and believed in all the Christian principles. However he could not stand for the few fanatics within his walls who sought to erase the calm and the good sense of his people. He had spoken at length to the Pastor on this topic and the man in his weekly sermons had done his best to stem the panic regarding the seemingly impending apocalypse. People being what they were, were very easily panicked, and only too eager to follow like sheep the few fanatics as they preached their offerings of doom to the populace.

He put the large tome down and it closed on itself with a loud thud, his eyes were sore from reading the tiny print in the poor light. Stephan even at sixty-nine did not want to admit it was also age that ailed his vision. He blinked into the dimness beyond the yellow ring of flickering light and heard the rasp of the branches against the window pane, idly wondering if he would ever see the great apple tree blossom again or yield its bountiful fruit to the children of his village. The rows of leather bound gold titled books silently hemming him in, storing the collective knowledge of humanity, and he wondered if his library was one of the only such existing places of this stored human knowledge? He hoped not, but he feared it may be so.

He rose slowly, reaching for his staff. Only a few short years ago he had not needed it at all, and now it was his constant companion steadying his every step. He had not realized Anna had been watching him waiting for him to come to bed. She reached for his hand the gold of her wedding band caught the light and he smiled remembering that distant day, in that distant time the two of them had pledged their love in that beautiful garden on that fine summer’s day. They did not exchange any words as she took his hand in hers. His wife of many years she knew his thoughts and did not need to. Anna, the love of his life was as arresting to him now as she was then, the one who kept him strong, his anchor on the world.

*****

The steel fortress squatted on the white windswept plains, a black blight on an otherwise unmarred virginal background. The black wolf on the red standard fluttered in the chill wind as the dying birds fell from the sky. Victor Krosse stood on the gelid battlements his face into the frosty wind watching the last struggles of a dying black crow on the ice below him, reflecting on his actions of the past few days. Rationing had begun in earnest, and Lothar’s long shelved nuclear war plans unfolded encompassing all. As with all cities even this fortress so carefully constructed had in times of plenty attracted many who were surplus to requirement.

Krosse and Lord Lothar had deemed it wise to cleanse the fortress of these individuals swiftly and quietly. The old, infirm, orphaned, and the unskilled, none were spared. They would not have anyone who did not pull their weight housed within the walls consuming the valuable rations and fuel. Unlike the uneducated masses who lived in the sparse, mean settlements they so often raided, the men here all knew what a nuclear winter entailed and it was not a pretty picture, the cull of citizens was ruthless and final. The fort housed in excess of some two hundred souls and that following morning that very same two hundred now numbered only one hundred and fifty-eight, each essential to operations in some way. All knew what had transpired and all had turned a blind eye. After all the needs of the many far outweighed the needs of the few.

The wind was bitter, it was well below zero, treacherous ice had formed on the checker plate battlements, night was closing in. In spite of the severe cold and the gloomy surroundings Victor felt happy to be alone, and he often came here to ponder matters. In the last few days the entire world had fundamentally changed, he could hardly believe that after seven years and a minor nuclear confrontation someone, somehow, had managed to unleash yet more of the deadly arsenal.

With no communications, and no way to access the outside world he would never know how it eventuated. So like humans touting their cleverness to destroy their own world he mused, a crooked smile twisting his stark features. His men returned from the lands to the south reporting what they perceived as a far off series of explosions, and they had witnessed the great dark clouds of smoke and debris that had tainted the atmosphere and blocked out the sun. So this was to be it then, devastating global climate change years after the initial war, that would at last attempt to wipe man from the face of the earth? Would he survive, would anyone?

The wind drove ice shards like splinters at the lone black clad man as he stood in defiance of the weather. Krosse felt the smooth kid leather of his gloves sticking to the frigid steel of the battlements, the crow had ceased its futile struggle to live far below, and was already being claimed by the shifting mantle of white. There would be no war with Stephan now, there would be no more bio diesel. All that was left to them was to ration the fuel they had, and stay within the walls. Krosse turned and began to ascend the treacherously slippery walk way confident at least of anywhere he might have been this evening he was in one of the few remaining, best places possible.