Chapter 127

Episode 2: Heaven A long time ago, there’d been a great war on this planet. A long, ugly war that embroiled the whole world, used up all the planet’s resources, and spilled the blood of many. That war gradually numbed the hearts of the people, until eventually they committed an act so aberrant it went beyond the boundaries of human behavior: they reused the bodies of soldiers who died in battle, turning them into weapons of massacre who would never die again. Who lacked the fear of death. Facial features that didn’t belong to any age she could pinpoint, neither old nor young; ashen skin and parched lips; long, black hair streaked with white that probably hadn’t been cut for decades. The bodies underneath their thick, worn clothes had begun to rot. That’s what the “First People” were like…They were Undyings. Were, she supposed, past tense. They were already crumbling away now. They said they’d been made from crystallized fossil fuel harvested back when this planet was just getting off the ground. These were the first Undyings. The three of them, leaning heavily against the backs of three creaking rocking chairs in front of the orange flames in the fireplace and speaking slowly and hoarsely, could almost have been a set of traditional tribal sculptures someone had left in this room for decoration. All the lamps in the room were turned off. Only the flickering light from the fireplace let her pick out their decaying profiles in the dimness. “We lived on this land in secret for a long time without knowing the War had ended.” “It was about forty years ago now that we learned the War had ended. But we have kept on living here nonetheless, together with the children and grandchildren born to us. This land is peaceful, and there are no wars. It lets us forget the pain of the past war.” “Young one…” That was what they called Harvey. Apparently from the first Undyings’ perspective, Harvey was still a young whippersnapper even after living more than eighty years. “We do not care for contact with the culture of the world Below.” “War is sure to break out again one day. We do not care to be involved in it.” “We would appreciate it if you would leave quickly and forget all about us. We shall direct the radio tower to the southern wilderness for you.” Listening to all of this at Harvey’s side, Kieli couldn’t help feeling the beginnings of fury. These people were what you called “deserters”—they said that during the War era they’d run away from the fighting and lived in hiding here in the far-northern wilderness; that they had lived quietly out of the way here for more than a hundred years now, bringing up their few offspring. On the one hand there were Harvey and the others, who had lived through the War without running, who had been hounded after it ended, too, without any way to escape their fates. And on the other hand were these people, who were acting as if there hadn’t ever been any War at all, living in peace and not even teaching these kids who didn’t know anything what an ugly thing war was— “Kieli.” Harvey’s voice quietly held her back. Maybe he’d read her mood from the way her hands were fisted at her sides. Kieli reluctantly swallowed down her anger, lowering her face to hide her scowl. Harvey always calmly kept her fury in check. “We don’t plan to stay long,” he told them. Harvey paid these seniors in life their due by speaking politely, by Harvey standards. “If you’d be so kind as to take us somewhere near the capital, we’ll leave right away.” “We do not mind if you rest before you go. However, we do not want you to stay long. We wish for you to understand that.” “Well, then…we’ll take you up on your offer. She’s not well again yet.” Harvey put his arm around Kieli’s shoulders and squeezed lightly, making a pointed show of concern. Personally, Kieli felt she was fit as a fiddle again by now, so if they weren’t welcome here she was ready and willing to go, but if Harvey wanted to stay, she didn’t have any particular objections, either. They left the room, Harvey urging her along in front of him. His hand on her shoulder was slightly tense. Kieli could tell from the feel of it that Harvey was surprisingly angry at them, too, and trying to rein it in. “I envy you, for being able to forget the War. But I do think there’s a difference between really forgetting and pretending nothing happened,” Harvey tossed back at them before he left the room. He kept his attitude respectful, but his voice was biting. And then… It was soon after that day that Harvey started acting more and more off. “This is heavy, you know. Will you be okay?” “I’m fine.” With a little oof, Kieli picked up the big tin pail full of fresh quee milk with both hands. She immediately stumbled under the weight. Ner’s mother laughed loudly and heartily, ample chest heaving. Kieli answered with an embarrassed laugh of her own as she managed to stop reeling and get her footing back. With the First People, the tribe’s elders, so blatantly unwelcoming, the rest of the tribe usually didn’t actively try to interact with them either. Ner’s mother was the exception. She was a really cheerful and open person. In fact, she was so spirited that Kieli tended to shrink back from her a little. Since Kieli was stuck with the clothes she’d escaped the capital in and hadn’t even had a real sweater or jacket to wear, Ner’s mom had lent her some clothes in their tribe’s style. Now she was hard at work with her hair tied back in a ponytail, wearing a long skirt made of heavy fabric, a blouse, a leather vest, and a shawl around her shoulders embroidered with a strange geometric pattern that apparently represented quee horns. Evidently quee milk was really nutritious, and Kieli’d gotten well in no time because they’d fed her soup made out of it. “Quee” were the animals they raised for food here. They were fairly small, meek herbivores that looked sort of like a cross between a horse and a sheep. They had two crooked horns on their heads, and they were covered with long, stiff fur the color of burnt tea. They spent all day peacefully eating what little grass grew in the impoverished soil. They weren’t even in any of the illustrated animal encyclopedias at school; these animals didn’t exist at all in the civilization Kieli knew. They must have evolved to thrive in this particular climate in the far-north tundra. As for the people here, there were twenty-odd men and women, plus four children and one newborn baby. It was an extremely small tribe. A few of the children were outside brandishing long sticks and whooping as they herded the quee. She saw a tall boy and a smaller boy—that’s right; the tall one was Paul, and the smaller one was Ner, who was a lively boy that strongly reminded her of his mother. The children here weren’t ever sent to school (since the tribe didn’t have such a thing); they worked just like the adults. Would this tribe go on to grow and flourish more? Or would it begin to die out along with the decaying First People…? Kieli didn’t know what future they were headed for. She just hoped that these children’s carefree laughter would live on. “I’ll carry that,” called one of the boys, leaving the flock of quee and jogging up to her. He more or less snatched the handle of the pail from Kieli’s hands, leaving her gaping at him with her suddenly empty hands hovering in the air. The boy looked away awkwardly as he hoisted up the milk pail. His name was Ishul, and he was basically the leader of the kids here. A warm square hat with flaps over the ears framed his lightly freckled face. His features still had a childlike innocence about them. The whole tribe had unruly dark hair and pale skin like his, but Ishul’s hair had a little more red in it than everyone else’s.