1
The wind howled through shattered, frozen streets as though mourning the immense loss of the colossal metropolis. Two figures fought it, trying desperately to stay upright as they wound their way through the devastated cityscape, dressed in dark hooded coats that protected their faces from the biting cold but couldn't keep the chill from their bones. They each carried huge oversized bags on their backs packed so full that they had to stoop as they walked. It was slow, exhausting progress.
One of them stumbled on the snow-covered rubble as she tried to shift her hood a little to hide her pale face from the flecks of ice being flung at them by the tempest. The other paused to check she was all right before they both wandered on, keeping to the middle of the street to avoid falling masonry, desperate to get home before the sun finally left them.
The brooding sky overhead did not give them optimism: they were still a long way from the village. The snow was beginning to thicken into heavy flurries while the horizon flashed with distant but approaching lightning. One of the figures tapped the other on the shoulder as the sky cracked from far off thunder, and as she jumped, startled at the sudden contact. He indicated that they had to stop; it was just too exposed out there.
She nodded and they diverted to the left, carefully picking their way through a small street looking for a building that didn't look fatally fragile among the decayed apartment blocks that loomed over them like giant rotten teeth. The piles of broken bricks and fragmented concrete grew higher and their climbing more than once caused little avalanches of debris. One figure signaled to the other then, since the snow was falling so quickly that visibility was suddenly cut down to a few feet. It wasn't safe to continue – better to take their chances inside. The other figure nodded, and they carefully headed into the nearest doorway.
It was a great relief to be out of the wind. The sudden still air seemed almost warm without the chill breeze burning their cheeks. They pulled down their hoods and smiled at each other, communicating their thankfulness for the respite from the elements.
They were both young – she was just over one and a half metres tall, with pale skin and jet-black hair tied back in a ponytail. Her pretty brown eyes were still anxious from the knowledge that there was a starving bear still outside their shelter, but as she looked into her companion's calm blue eyes, she relaxed. He was taller than her – he could probably have just about rested his chin on top of her head – and had light brown, almost blond hair cut very short, but his skin was similarly pale, almost anemic-looking. The cold made them so pale, and that was something that they had to watch. Scavengers had died because they had been unable to get home on a winter's night.
"We're very late," she said, her voice soft with a lilting accent. "Our mothers will be worried."
"They'll know we're sheltering from the storm," he replied.
"What if it doesn't let up?"
"Then we'll stay here until it does."
They stood either side of the doorway, leaning against the walls directly opposite each other. The floor they stood on was a mosaic of white marble pieces, now covered in dust, but in its day it must have been quite something. The doors had been glass but were now splintered into a million crystal shards, spreading into the dark interior of the building.
"Must've been a really nice place," said the dark-haired girl, and stood up to casually mill into the darkness.
"Be careful," he warned, "we don't know how stable the building structure is."
"It looks fine," she turned to him and smiled, "look, the ceiling doesn't even sag."
There was concern on his face, but she just grinned and turned to wander around the room, her feet crunching over ancient broken glass, scuffing through the age-old dust that carpeted the place.
"Let's explore," she said, excitement in her eager voice, "this place looks like somewhere rich people once lived."
"We have no need – our sacks are full. If we found anything else we couldn't take it with us anyway."
"Let's explore anyway. We could always come back this way another day."
"The Solstice is in three days – we'd never have time to come back."
"Stop thinking about the Solstice," the chirp drained from her demeanour. "Please – I don't want to think about it."
A sigh. "No, I suppose you're right."
"Come on – this storm isn't going to let up, we're going to have to find somewhere to stay where we can get warm. Come on – these stairs are very solid, they won't give way," he couldn't see her because of the darkness, and that worried him.
"Iona?"
"Come on!"
Reluctantly, he followed the direction of her voice. It echoed through the empty halls, the cold stone walls doing nothing to give the place a welcoming atmosphere. The entrance lobby was big – he could only see the real extent of it when his eyes got used to the darkness.
The stairs were fairly stable - he had to admit she was right. But then – she usually was. They were heavy marble, he could see the swirl in the stone even though the dust, and wondered what they had looked like before, when the place was clean. Refined elegance - that was what he imagined. Polished stone, polished people – you could feel it, even as the wind howled through the gaping doorway.
"Aithran? Come and look at this place." Her voice came from along the extensive, marble-floored corridor at the top of the stairs.
He passed a couple of doors that were ajar – signs of the people having left quickly, and eventually came to a door that shed a little light into the gloomy corridor. It was a huge place – open wooden floors, stylish furniture. There were many personal effects strewn all over the place, as though someone was still living here – photographs of smiling people from before the war, books, papers and hats and coats hanging on the wall by the door.
"Through here." He voice came through another door, which he stepped towards.
"The light's fading," he said as he came into a huge bedroom. "We'll need to make a fire soon."
"There's a fireplace," she flung herself at him, hugging him, "look, they've left some matches!"
"Great." That was a relief. It would be good to get a fire going quickly.
She said, "there are so many things here – it's as though nobody ever left."
"Somebody did leave, though. They took all the valuables. Come on, let's look for something to burn – we'll freeze soon if we're not careful."
Leaving their bags in the bedroom, they scavenged through the rest of that floor of the building, piling up a substantial heap of wooden furniture that they would easily be able to break up and use to feed the fire. The boy, Aithran, used the old matches to start the fire, and some old papers to encourage the first flames. In a few minutes, the flames were flickering all over the small pile of wood in the hearth, and it was warm enough to start removing wet clothes.
He took off his coat and stood up to lay it out in front of the fire while Iona went to close the bedroom door so that they could keep the heat in. He removed all his clothes until he was in just a pair of faded leather briefs – underwear that had never been scavenged, never been worn by anyone else, but had been made for him by his mother. He put his clothes over a couple of chairs that he could place near the fire.
With all of his clothes drying in front of the flames, he pulled the mattress from the bed and dragged it down in front of the hearth so that he could then sit cross-legged and embrace the wonderful warmth.
