After the End

Book One of The Winterfast Chronicles

It's been two decades since the Slaughter of Jotunheim, and my people still fear the mountains.
The could have been beautiful, with high peaks and green hills, but it isn't the mountains themselves we're scared of. We're frightened of the things that live there, in the Edge. The awful, inhuman things.
Heathens. That's what we Northerners call them. They're the boogeymen of the North, but more like a legend that an actual, living race. Countless Heathens died at Jotunheim, as well as many of my people. Too many.
The North, my home, is dangerous enough without venturing into the Edge. Before the old world went under, scientists had been playing with the idea of renewable energy for a while. Nuclear and solar sources were their biggest inspiration. I don't quite understand the science behind it, but I know that something went wrong. What used to be Europe was split in two, and constant earth-quakes caused an abrupt mountain chain to build. It separated Scandinavia and some parts of Russia from the rest of the continent, and we call that barrier 'the Edge'. They are the very same mountains I'm looking at right now.
The farther north you go from the Edge, the harder it gets to breath. The remaining radiation has seeped into everything in my home – the ground, the air, and the animals that were't taken underground in time. Wolves became our partners – my own wolf, Ysmir, is proof of this – but they became our enemies as well. The ones that weren't rescued mutated into to huge, feral beasts. We call them lickers, because of their two tongues and affinity for licking the skin off of their prey before they eat it. I've seen it happen. That's my job, to protect the other Northerners from anything that might want to kill them. I'm a soldier, I have been since I was eighteen – which doesn't seem like much, considering I just turned twenty. Two years here, though, swinging weapons and seeing fellow soldiers die... it feels like an eternity.
“Hille,” Leif says, “You've got that look on your face again – still scared, or just missing your doggy?” He smiles down at me, and I don't think he knows how right he is. My great-grandfather led the Slaughter of Jotunheim, and horror stories from that day have been passed down to me through the years. All of the Winterfast family has heard them. I smile back at Leif anyway, because it's Leif.
“Sure, I don't want you to be scared all by yourself – what are teammates for?” It feels nice to joke with him, but I know the itch at the back of my neck won't go away until we're out from the mountains' shadow. We couldn't even bring the wolves with us because they won't go near the Edge. I wish we were following our instincts as well.
The twins, Rune and Hymir, are standing on either side of the Warden, but their shift is almost over. That's the whole mission, escort the Warden, and it seemed easy enough until our commanding officer told us where we'd be going. We thought Nikolai was joking – the Edge? No one goes into the Edge, not even the military.
The Warden is the leader of the North, and his last name is Winterfast, like me. He's my father, but before that, he is my king. Our family has led the Northerners ever since my great-grandfather fought and died in the Slaughter. It was he who sent the children away to safety – everyone except his own son, who stayed to fight by him. That was my grandfather, my father's father, and the only fighter who survived. Ingvar was his name, but they called him the first Warden of the North.
Our people were happy to leave the mountains to the savages, the Heathens, for many years. But memories fade, and some people – some idiots – are convinced that the Edge is vacant, waiting for the Northerners to claim it. I must admit, it is nice to be able to breath without my gas-mask, but I know in my very center that these mountains are wrong. This mission of my father's, to prove to our people that the Edge is dangerous... it's a suicide mission. Part of me is angry that our people don't trust him or our history, after everything the Winterfast family has done. The fact he has to come here to make sure – it's all I can do to not to drag him back to the city right now. Leif can tell how angry I am, and his fingers brush against mine before he asks Commander Nikolai how far we plan on going.
“We'll go as far as needed,” the Warden says, before Niko can answer. Peter Tryggvi Winterfast is a big man, a fighter. We share the same creased forehead and honey-colored eyes. I've never seen honey, but I imagine it was a pretty, golden color. Every Northerner has pale eyes, though, and even paler skin. Part of it is from generations of living underground, and the fact that even aboveground, the sun is rarely present. The military, which are the only Northerners permitted to visit the surface, are only a few shades darker than everyone else. Which means my own skin is polished marble color, not the usual paper white.
They say that Heathens are black like they've been burned by the sun itself. I can't imagine it.
“Sir, may I speak to you?” I ask, and my father nods curtly. We're hiking in the shadow of the highest peak, Espiino, and the darkness turns both of our faces gray. When we've put a short distance between us and the rest of my group, I look up at him. The height difference is shocking, though not as dramatic as the space between Leif and I. A downside of being female, but I've adapted to it.
“Sir, has it occurred to you that we don't have to go into the Edge, we could turn back now – my unit wouldn't say anything, sir, you can trust us-”
“Hillevi Winterfast, I didn't raise you to be a coward,” He uses my full name with a stern voice and, suddenly, I am a little girl again. “The difference between being a good leader and being a great one is serving your people before yourself.”
“I'm a part of your people dad – sir – and I would rather live the rest of my life 'not-knowing' than risk you dying. Sir.” I sound desperate, and I realize that I am. The Warden and I are the only branches left of the Winterfast tree. I used to have siblings but... I don't anymore. Losing him would probably crush me, and – even if it's selfish – I want to keep him alive. “Please, father.” I whisper, and he looks at me sadly for a moment before his jaw tightens.
“We're cut from the same cloth, you and I. We both know this is the right thing to do. They wanted answers, so we give them answers.”
“But why do you have to do this?” I ask. He doesn't answer right away, and I can see the rest of my unit squint at us anxiously.
“When your sister Olywen died, you told me that both of you were dead – that part of you had passed into the void with her. Do you remember that?” I nod numbly, my eyes fixed on the mountains behind him. “Death is a part of this life, and fighting is living. Ingvar knew that, and we both know that. You joined the army, and you've slowly come back to life, Hillevi -”
“But if I lose you too -”
“No – listen, I am one person. We are both born of Winterfast blood, and what makes us powerful is being able to die for what is right. No Slaughter, no Heathen or 'myth' or licker will take that from us. We do not do what is easy, we do what is right.” Or die trying, I think, as I look at the silver family ring on my thumb. It's embossed with a curling 'W', and meant for a larger finger than mine. I know he won't change his mind, my father and I truly are the same. Stubbornness is a family-defining feature. “Besides,” he adds, “I've got you protecting me – I think if you had led the Slaughter then Jotunheim would still be standing. I trust you, Hillevi. I trust you more than you know.” We rejoin the group and continue, deeper into the mountains.
Leif asks what we talked about, but I'm too distracted to give him a good answer. He has been with me since we were both children, and I've seen him grow up. He has thick, black hair and pale blue eyes – this, combined with a flirtatious personality and a strong jaw has given him the pompousness of a man who knows he's attractive. I saw him just yesterday with his latest conquest, Linnea, who gave him a very long – very physical goodbye while the twins and I laughed at them. Rune and Hymir, especially Hymir, have always laughed easily, but I honestly don't know how I feel about Linnea. It seems serious between them, and Leif has always been... mine, in a way. Our friendship has been built over the span of many years, enduring death, drugs, and loss of limb. Part of me – a dark, petty part – is jealous, and the rest of me just wants to be happy for him. He's twenty-three and most of us don't live long enough to start families.
The twins switch shifts, so Leif and I take over on either side of my father. Nikolai, the commander of the unit, takes the lead. His gray head bobs ahead of us, and he looks minuscule next to the mountains. They're rocky and barren here, but I can see dense greenery poking out from the southern side. No one knows what lies over the Edge, but we humans do love to speculate. Some say nothing, that the world just disappears and the rest of humanity has been swallowed up by the void. Scientifically, that seems impossible, but – then again – lickers mutated from wolves, and they look nothing like my Ysmir. Strange things happen everyday.
The more likely alternative is that we're two sides of a coin now. The sun, while almost never shining in the North, seems to be constantly present south of the mountains. The only natural light we get is from over the peaks of the other side, which supports this theory. I can't imagine living there, my eyes sting already from the weak light here – an eternal day? What a nightmare.
In the North, we have our own fair share of problems. Mutated animals, no sunlight, toxic precipitation- there is no shortage of ways to die there, but it's home. It's my home.
“Hillevi, I want you to sweep the area – go with her, Leif.” Nikolai says, after he's chosen a spot to camp. My gut is tied between relief that we won't go farther in today, and panic that we'll be sleeping here.
Leif and I stalk through the sparse bushes where the frozen tundra meets the Edge's beginning, each of us hold an axe. It's my preferred weapon, but I know he favors the long machete-like knives used by the other soldiers.
“You've been so quiet today,” He says, as he peers sideways at me.
“I've been thinking a lot, I guess. You know, the stories about the Slaughter and my great-grandad and, well, I've had a lot on my mind.” Thoughts of him kissing Linnea surface and I realize I'm scowling. My neck is still prickling, not just because I'm anxious but also because I've started to sweat. “It's so warm here!” I pant, and pull of my gray camouflage jacket.
“Well, considering it's above freezing here – it's amazing we haven't burst into flames yet. Look,” He lets out a huge breath, and I watch for the tell-tell cloud of fog. The air stays oddly clear. “See, nothing.”
Temperatures rarely reach above freezing in the North, and my body isn't used to this. His isn't either. I'm struck with the stupidity of this whole mission, because whatever lies beyond the mountains will be a desert – and none of us are prepared for that. We evolved, just like the lickers, and we aren't suited for living here – even if Heathens are a myth. This whole, pointless idea makes me sick.
Leif and I take the first watch. No one bothered to make a fire, it's warm enough already – the thermometer in my watch says 16 degrees Celsius. Nikolai sleeps next to my father, and the twins sleep side by side, like always. It's hard for us to sleep when it's light out, our eyes are too sensitive, and I'm certain that Rune isn't actually asleep. We both suffer from insomnia, and his breathing sounds too controlled. I wonder if Leif has noticed?
“How's the new leg then?” I ask him, and point to his new prosthetic. He lost his leg years ago, at eighteen. I was fourteen then, and I was with him in the hospital the whole night. Limbs aren't that important in the North, we replace them everyday – the world stands still, but medicine goes on. Some prosthetics are normal, portable and not permanent, but some become an actual part of your body. The price of those are high though, and rich people don't tend to go out and lose body parts like us soldiers.
“What, you mean the new model?” He says, and swings his metal leg into view. “It isn't all that fancy, but it works. Apparently, I'm supposed to take it off before I go to sleep -”
“And you always sleep with it on – see – I told you!” I smile at the disgruntled expression on his handsome face. “You're still clumsy though, I think the whole mountain heard us earlier.”
“But what if there's nothing here, Hille? What then?” He looks serious now, “I respect your father, but the Slaughter was half a century ago – maybe the Edge really is something we should explore -”
“Do you not feel it? I've been uneasy since we came here – and we aren't even in the Edge yet, this is barely outside!” I tighten the grip on my axe. “Instincts are instncints, Leif.”
“You've been spending too much time with Ysmir and Genevieve – wolves are wolves, and we're people. Maybe I should scratch your back for a while?” He laughs, and I shush him – but I keep smiling. It's easy to be around Leif.
We spend the next couple of hours telling stories and jokes. My shoulders have finally relaxed when he brings up my 'forbidden' topic.
“Dmitri's brother, Ilia, he asked me about Olywen the other day. It's been two years, and he still misses her.”
“Is that supposed to mean something to me?” I snap, all the easiness gone from my voice. “Ilia was a little boy – he's still a little boy – and Dmitri just wants a better foothold in the army – He still leaves me presents, like, scarves and things. I don't want gifts. Or pity.” I want my little sister back.
Leif seems taken aback by my words, and this isn't the sort of subject he can joke his way out of.
“Do you... do you like Dmitri? He's nice, right?” I frown at him.
“Dimka is very nice, I mean, we fought together before Nikolai recruited me. I just... I don't have time for that, you know? It all seems pointless.” He narrows his eyes at the pet-name, 'Dimka', and presses me with more questions.
“He's good-looking, isn't he? And I don't think he pities you, I think -”
I quickly hold up a finger to his lips and shake my head. I mouth the words 'be quiet', and he raises his eyebrows at me. Northerners have excellent hearing, almost like the wolves we hunt with – and the monsters we hunt – but this is something new. A sound I'm not used to hearing on the surface.
Someone is giggling.
The itch at the back of my neck turns into nausea – then panic – when I realize we are not alone out here. As Nikolai's second in command, it's my job to take charge when he's unavailable, but what do I do? Should I chase after them? Wake the others?
I can hear footsteps now, at least seven pairs. They're running in a circle around the camp, whispering and calling to each other. I don't recognize the language. The sun is still present, as always in the Edge, just behind the mountains. I should have seen them moving before now. More than ten of them. Dressed is strips of fabric and furs, their hair is knotted in very pale ropes. White hair. Their eyes are dark, and their skin – their skin – they're so dark they look like liquid night, flitting between the scraggy bushes. Ingvar wasn't lying, my grandfather wasn't lying. We were right. I've never been this scared of being right before.
“Wake up!” I shout, and pull out my weapon. Leif is in shock until I push him toward my father with a hasty – “Protect him!”. Nikolai is up, and Rune is the first one to stand by me armed. We form a circle around my father, and the closest Heathen reaches Nikolai first.
He kicks out at its knee, and it falls to the ground. They're smaller than us, but they're fast and those dark, beady eyes are unnerving. I stamp on its head out of instinct and crush its skull. Briefly, I notice the pink brain matter on my boot, but then another one has reached us. I cleave this one, a male, with my axe. My weapon sinks into the crook between his neck and shoulder. He goes down.
My father wants to help, but he's unarmed and much too valuable for us to let him out of the protective wall. Half a dozen Heathens are attacking Hymir, and when Leif takes a small step to the side in order to help, they push themselves through and grab the Warden. Someone is screaming and I think it's me. I turn and fling myself at the Heathen who's grabbed my father – only then do I see that some of them are armed with long spears covered in painted symbols. I snatch one of the weapons from a female and skewer two Heathens before they've realize what's happened. Six of them have a hold on my father, and they're dragging him deeper into the Edge. I can't let that happen. I won't let that happen.
Leif and the twins sprint after me as I rush towards the Warden. Nikolai is struggling to free him, until two Heathens break off and attack him. I see his head hit the rocky soil hard.
I howl at the twins to grab my father – protect the Warden – and I dive into the battle. My stolen spear is caught in a ribcage and I tackle the last two Heathens to the ground. Gravel digs into my knees and elbows.
“Run!” I scream, as I hold one down. My father hesitates – only a moment – before running back to the twins. Leif is next to me, pulling Heathens off of my body. They aren't that much shorter than us, but their narrow frames are bony and light. I roll onto my side and slide the long knife from its sheath on my back so I can stab the Heathen next to me. I'm close enough to him to hear his small gasp of breath as the air leaves his lungs. His eyebrows are covered in metal rings, and his eyes are actually brown, not black. I killed him.
Leif pulls me to my feet, and we run back to the rest of the group. I stop by Nikolai's unconscious body and drag him up over my shoulders. Rune helps me. My fingers are slick from all the blood and I almost lose my grip twice.
“Go, go,” I shout to my teammates, and we make for the open tundra. I can hear whoops and calls from the Heathens behind us. I don't know how many we killed, but Hymir's cheek is bleeding and Niko probably has a concussion – either way, now is not the time or place to lead another Slaughter against the Heathens. Jotunheim had thousands. We have six.
The foreign cries from the Edge become louder and louder, like the mountains themselves have come to life and want to kill us. I make eye contact with Leif and jerk my head to the side. All the blood drains from his face when he understands what I'm going to do. We aren't going to make it.
“Rune – can you and Hymir carry Nikolai?” Before he can answer, the Warden falls to the ground. I run back to him and help him up, “Sir, what's -” Then I see the blood, and the ragged hole in the fabric above his stomach. I curse loudly, and pull off my own shirt. I press it to his abdomen and replace my hand with his – “Don't let go.” He pants and nods, but I can tell that he won't make it running. This won't work. The Heathens are getting closer and I curse loudly again.
“Hymir, take my father and go – help him, Rune – no, I'll be fine.” The twins lay Nikolai on the ground, and I turn to Leif. “Take the Commander, protect the rest of them – I can hold off the closest Heathens -”
“You know damn well I won't be leaving you, Hille!” Leif shouts and I scowl back.
“I am you commanding officer, you have to listen to me, you have to -”
“You are my friend!” He says, and takes out a long knife, “I don't care what you think you have to do!”
“Please, Leif,” I beg, “Please take Nikolai and go – there is still a chance you will make it out of this.” I pull my family ring from my thumb and press it into his hand. It's covered in blood, like my fingers. “Go. Now.”
I switch direction and sprint back towards the Heathens. Only a dozen or so have made it out of the mountains. The air is much cooler here, in the tundra, and my undershirt leaves my upper arms bare. I don't shiver, though, and I can't remember the last time I did.
Only half of this group is armed, and I cut down three of them before one of the spears hit its mark. The sharp edge bites into the outside of my thigh, and I jerk the weapon out of the the Heathen's hands before he can attack me again. I stab him in the neck, just below his jaw. Another two Heathens trip me, and my knees hit the cold dirt. I pull one of them down and punch her hard in the face. My hand feels naked without my ring, and I hear Leif yelling for me, yelling my name.
I'm surrounded by dead and unconscious Heathen bodies, but one is still standing. A woman. The horde is swarming in the distant mountains behind her, and she smiles at me. The sun is rising behind her – granting the North a few precious hours of light. To me, it's blinding.
The woman approaches me calmly, carefully. She doesn't act like the others, though she looks the same to me. Piercings are sprinkled over her face, and a curved bone pokes through one of her cheeks. Her teeth are sharp, not like a wolf's, but like a cat's. She holds a broken spear in one of her dark hands, the metal point is missing.
I'm still on my knees facing her, and I've never felt so powerful. My father was right, and this is what I believe in – protecting my Warden and my unit. My people.
I am a wall, I am a shield, and I am a Winterfast.
She swings the handle of the weapon towards my temple.
'We do not do what is easy.'
Blackness swallows up my vision and I feel my shoulder hit the ground.
'We do what is right.'