This is a sci-fi short that is set in a universe I created more than a decade ago. There is an unfinished novel sitting on my hard drive that takes place in the same universe but I’ve never been able to find the motivation to finish it. I think I’ve been trying to run before I can walk. So about a year ago I decide to create some prequel short stories that will explore and fill out the background of my universe. The aim is to self-publish about 5 of them as a compendium.

I wrote this story on paper about a year ago but never typed it up. As part of a drive to get my work published / read I’ve decided to share my work with more people. It is pointless to write stories that are never read. I do try to edit as a type but I’m sure there are a few rough edges to clean up but certainly not the worst thing you’ll read this year.

Enjoy and comment below.

Fallen Gods of Cheam

Ice, it’s everywhere. Ice, it’s even in the places you can’t see. Snow covers the ice and makes up almost everything that isn’t ice. Vistas of ice, rocks and mountains, between plateaus of snow. Cheamian landscapes never differ. The further south you go the more it snows. Cool winds whip across the lands, through the valleys of white, up and over the rocks of grey. Darkened greens huddle together where the ice stops and before the rocky peaks begin; the wooded areas are few yet evergreen – brown legs coated in white powder.

 The village of Fjatlos sat high on the sheltered face of a rocky mountain overlooking Five Glacier Valley. A string of mountains met around a valley of glaciers, the sea of ice-packed structures flowed down the from the rocky saddles and gathered in the basin as a culmination known as the Fjatlos Basin. The village dwellings were high above the basin carved into the peaty hillside, the wooden frames buried deep into the ground. Steep walls stood taller than man, from which snow wound slide and fall without hindrance. Each building stood apart to let the snows flow freely by, the snow could be the downfall of any dweller yet snow provided the necessary insulation for life.

 Tallest of all buildings was the temple, rising up taller than the village hall, yet not as tall as the melt-water collector. The collectors were life-giving tall wooden structures that channelled fresh snow from the ridge that collected the water in metal buckets. Even in conditions as rough as Cheam it was easy for people to forget what kept them alive. Danger focussed the mind but everyone needs rest, everyone forgets about the natural mechanisms of life.

 Life was only possible in Fjatlos due to the natural heat from the mountain fissures that provided the warmth needed to change the ice into water. The Fire Caves hide a source of pure hot water that drips and collects in the depths of the caverns. A labyrinth of tunnels hides the pools of water beneath the hills.

 

 “Istelle, Istelle! Get back in here. You’ll freeze to death,” the voice of Sedron’s wife carried in the wind. Sedron turned his head to watch his wife and ran after their daughter Istelle.

 “I’m fine mother, look I can run,” Istelle called back. Sedron was glad to see his daughter was up and running around again. Fever had wracked her body and took her to the edge of death. ‘Please not again’, they pleaded with death not to take another child, they had lost enough offspring. It didn’t feel like such a long time since they lost an older daughter to fever.

 “Istelle!” her mother called.

 “Mama, there’s no wind, mama. I can run and run.”

 “Get your furs on, now. Don’t let your father see you like this.”

 A hand grabbed Istelle from behind and dropped a thick fur garb over her head. “Careful young wolf, even the bravest hunter wear their furs,” Sedron spoke clearly to his daughter.

 “Ugh! Dad,” Istelle resisted, “it isn’t even cold.” She tried to slip away from his hug.

 “It is cold, young woman, and you will wear your furs.” Istelle freed herself and ran away along the frozen muddy pathways of the village. The white-grey wolf cloak trailed behind her. It hung half over one shoulder but didn’t quite fit. This cloak belonged to her brother who was lost on a village hunt.

 “Get away from the edge,” Istelle’s mother called, “tell her Sedron!”

 “She sees it, she won’t run over the edge.” he shouted back.

 “Sedron! I’m not losing another child this year.”

 Sedron grumbled, he wouldn’t let the past haunt the future. If he always dwelt on the kids already lost then he could not celebrate the three kids that remained. Four gone, but three still survive. The world was harsh and unforgiving, he was reminded of this every morning. Why did life exist on such a frigid world? Sedron tried not to ask himself, the thoughts of his own mortality and limited existence drove him to dark places. The mind was sharp when cold, but clarity was lost when the mind was left to dwell.

 Istelle ran to the edge of Skull Cliff, her mother shouted again, but Sedron hadn’t moved. ‘Why is called Skull Cliff?’ Istelle had asked her father when she was younger. So young, so naive. How to explain the bones in the valley? Not to a child, you can’t explain the bones to a child. The bones are from unwanted children, bastards, and cripples. When the babies’ cries stop, the parents start. Villages elders are at least given a choice: the dignity of a swift execution or the option of leaving to wilderness with a sharp blade. Life is tough and food is scarce. The gods have forsaken this world. Ice. Snow. Ice. Snow. Ice and then more damned snow. Oh, why can’t it be warm?

 Istelle’s laughter and screams of joy filled the air as she ran with friends around the village. The other parents watched with just as much concern. Life was dangerous and everyone has lost a sibling, parent, or child in recent memory.

 “See, she’s fine,” Sedron said as he sat down to sharpen his iron spear. He shrugged his large round shoulders and took a piece of flint from his pocket. Everything was fine, he told himself.

 “Troubles at home?” A voice called from behind. Sedron didn’t rise to the bait. His brother laughed then came to sit beside him. Alfron was taller and more muscular, yet had a poorer aim and wasn’t as nimble on his feet. Just behind Alfron were two more men, each followed by a leashed wolf, and behind them were Alfron’s two teenage sons Fomel and Kebber. “Almost time for hunting, are you ready?” Sedron heard the footsteps of the other men but hadn’t bother to turn and greet them. One of the wolves had come to Sedron’s familiar smell, it licked his face then sat by his feet. “Deaf or just ignorant, Sedron?”

 Sedron smirked. “The spear won’t sharpen itself.”

The seven hunters dressed alike in white-grey skins that matched the wolves they walked with. Collective barks came from the wolves who had turned their attention to a snowfox running by, they yanked themselves against their leashes in a vain attempt to pursue. The hunters pulled the leashes tight leading to a collective yelp from the wolves.

 “Easy now,” Alfron clapped his pet.

 The tip of the spear was sharp enough to cut with the slightest touch. Sedron rose and eyeballed his fellow huntsmen. He said nothing. Everyone knew each other, this hunt would be routine. No mistakes. No unnecessary deaths. No children to bury, not  this time. “Pray for my return, we shall feast when I return. The lands shall be rife with meat now that the winds have gone.” Sedron addressed his wife.

 “Sedron,” Welyn called out to him but suddenly couldn’t find the tell him how much he meant to her. He had to survive, she didn’t know how she could last if there was another death in the family. Worst of all if Sedron died her pillar in life was gone. She tried to smile but her eyes fell to the ground, her mind wandered into a dream of days long gone. “Sedron, I shall pray for your return. Please be careful. No heroics…” she looked to the rest of the huntsmen, “from any of you.”

 “Sedron!” Elsar shouted. “No time for kissing, let’s get hunting.”

 Snow crunched under the feet of the hunting party as they started their marched away from Sedron’s house. The wolves rushed along side; darting out and back with eagerness.

 Cotyr looked back to see if Sedron had moved, “By gods man… you are in no hurry.” The wind howled yet the sun still shone. Sedron kissed his wife goodbye, he uttered something to her that no one else could hear.

 “We shall return with a feast for the whole village,” Sedron announced to all. By now, the rest of the village had come out to wave farewell to their hopeful hunters. May the hunt be prosperous they shouted after the men.

 “Or to an irate wife if you fail,” Alfron laughed.

 “Careful brother or she will have your wolf for our next stew.” Sedron finally left by kissing Istelle goodbye. His other children remained inside. He mumbled a prayer to the gods that should this party fail then they must look after his wife and children, even his eldest and moodiest child. Cerrun wouldn’t listen to his father, he had no drive to do anything with life. How does a parent encourage a child to live when the child will not listen to reason? Every suggestion is wrong, every bit of help ignored. ‘Be safe’ Sedron whispered to the wind.

 “Gods of wind, of fire, of land and water, of trees and of men, hear my prayer. Give me strength to hunt and see that my spear will  fly straight and true, give me courage in the face of fear and deliver me from danger. I ask this prayer to be heard O’ Gods above, watch over us this day.” Alfron said aloud.

 Ilkand, their father, never left the village without prayer and he had raised his own sons to be both respectful to the gods and dutiful to the village. No chief was fairer or greater in skill. Sedron long wished to emerge from his father’s shadow, but even in the old man’s death, few can see the potential that shines from Sedron. ‘Ilkand the great, Ilkand the wise, the generous, the fair, the master.’ Sedron had grown tired of his father’s legacy such that he had come to revel in the folklore of Magnar, a man that some say was even greater than Ilkand. It was he that wrestled wolves and brought home the first tamed wolf to the village. Magnar lost an eye but continued to hunt. Magnar lost a hand but continued to rule. Many say that Sedron, and Ilkand, were descended from Magnar he legendary chief of Fjatlos.

 What made Ilkand so loved was not just his successful hunting strategies but his patience and fair handedness in resolving disputes. It was not uncommon for rival villages to come to him and ask for adjudication of their disputes. A man who loved to walk and climb alone, as much as he loved to hunt with the other men from the village. A quiet man who was fierce in battle yet bore no grudges and was slow to temper. He was Ilkand the loved.

 Sedron had planned out the route the party would take, as master of the hunt he set the pace and chose to lead them north across the ridge and away from Five Glacier Valley. Over to the backside of the mountain and then northwards past the evergreen forests. The hilly region beyond the flatlands to the north should prove fertile this time of year, away from all the villages of man.

The untouched setting, beyond the flatlands, allowed animals to roam wild and free. Kills should be plentiful, but it was not without danger. His father always instructed his parties to cross the snowy expanse as fast as possible, only the biggest and toughest creatures would roam there but their maw could cut a man in two with ease. Sharp claws that could penetrate the skull, front to back, in a single swipe. Such creatures that stood tall as a temple and could run as fast as any wolf, but their meat was poisonous and foul his father had warned. Sedron never figured out how his father could know that.

 As child Sedron heard stories from his grandfather of the equatorial flats far in the south. Vast icy deserts with untouched snow that was so soft and thick that no one dared cross them. No shelter or food, so it would be impossible to cross even if anyone dared. ‘Was there no rocks there grandfather?’ Sedron had asked. He never did get an answer to that. ‘Couldn’t it be crossed in a sledge?’ Sedron had asked another time, ‘no, too far.’

 

Before the hunters would cross the flats Sedron checked that all members still followed. Elsar, Cotyr, Alfron and his sons Fomel and Kebber. Sedron counted seven; two more than he would have liked. The boys would be more of hindrance than a help. ‘It’s not an easy hunt, boys, perhaps it would be best to go back.’ Sedron had warned them but Alfron pleaded to let them come. They had to learn how to hunt one day.

 Fomel wheezed with each gust of wind which further entrenched Sedron’s resentment as he heard his nephew struggle to match his pace. “Slow down Sedron,” Alfron had barked, at least twice now, but Sedron would not listen. Alfron had also complained of aching feet and muscle cramps, but Sedron ignored it. He was determined to hunt, and bringing home any sack of meat smaller than he was would be a failure. ‘The sleds must be piled high,’ he warned. No turning back until we have filled our sacks.

 “My feet are aching. I must rest, Sedron,” Alfron shouted above the howls of the wind. One of his skis had become lodged into a mound of snow and threw his body to the floor. Even the wolves were tiring and the sky was now darkening. It was time to rest. Sedron accepted and came to sit besides Alfron.

 “Are you injured?” he asked Alfron.

 “I’m fine, just a little bruised but it’s nothing,” Alfron said.

 “We should try making the crossing before nightfall.”

 “We won’t make it. It’s too far.”

 “I’’m hungry,” Cotyr interrupted.

 “It isn’t too far,” Sedron replied to Alfron, “we’ll make it. I’ve done this before.”

 “I’ve done it before too and you know it’s too far. C’mon, we did this three ago too,” Alfron said.

 “Can we eat already?” Cotyr shouted. He stood above the two brothers still waiting for resolution.

 “Hey! Did you just see that?” Elsar shouted. He was the last to join the commotion. Alfron’s sons had joined him on the snow but kept quiet while the adults bickered.

 “Let’s make camp here,  it would be better just to rest.” Alfron said.

 “Here? You moron, we can’t just stop here. Where is here? Here is nowhere. There’s no shelter, no wood, no anything,” Sedron rebutted.

 “We should move on then,” Cotyr agreed and pointed towards the far end of the flatlands.

 “There!” Elsar shouted, “there it was again. Did you see that?”

 “What are you talking about?” Sedron turned to see what Elsar was looking at. “I don’t see anything. Now let’s just get our stuff and get to the other side.”

 “I saw it… it was like a star falling from the sky,” said Cotyr.

 “Cotyr, you’re hungry. You don’t know what which way is up when you’re hungry,” Sedron shouted back.

 “No, look, there. It happened again. Whatever it was, it fell again.” Elsar said.

 “It was a falling star. I’ve seen it twice now.” Cotyr added.

 “Gods have mercy,” Alfron said.

 “I can assure you that the sky is not falling down.” Sedron said, he looked around for the mysterious falling stars. “It was a meteor. Nothing more. Now let’s get going before night falls.”

 “We should see where they land. Maybe they bring gold?” Elsar asked.

 Cotyr laughed. “Gods don’t have a use for gold.”

 “There!” Elsar shouted. He pointed at the series of falling red stars falling. Everyone was watching Sedron who now stood at the edge of disbelief; his mouth agape. They had all seen the falling stars now.

 “This is a bad omen, brother,” Alfron said.

 

The wolves seemed the most apprehensive, they whined and wagged their tails profusely. Another three stars fell, red pinpoints of light, bursting into life in an instant then disappearing just as quickly. All occurrences happened in the same region of sky. It had to be a meteor shower, Sedron told himself.

 The stars no longer fell but the sky had darkened, the clouds were thicker, miasmic and grey. Sedron lead the team forward. ‘I must not show fear, they will not follow if I cannot lead. There is no need to fear, for death is not the end.’ He uttered breathlessly to himself. Keep marching and we shall make it by nightfall.

  “Look! More lights,” Cotyr shouted.

  “They’re blue,” Elsar added, “and green.”

 “They…” Alfron spoke up, “they’re just hanging.”

 And then nothing.

 The lights disappeared. Sedron and the hunting group were soon reminded how dark Cheam became in the middle of the flatlands. No campfires, no sun, no falling stars, almost no light at all.

 Suddenly, a cloud of ice and snow exploded in the distance. A mist rose from the land and dominated their view of the hills. The situation had new meaning. Something, whatever it was, had hit the flatlands.

 The cloud continued to puff outwards and finally washed over the weary travellers. Sedron pulled his cloak in tighter when the wind blew. His wolf barked in the air. Something was threatening it. What did it sense?

 A further row of stars descended. As it did a further cloud of snow blew across the land. These gods fell and then stopped. Their lights had not extinguished, yet they no longer fell. A gust of wind brushed along the flatlands, the miasma of ice and snow cleared if only for a moment. Clarity was offered for a moment. All the lights had come to a rest.

 The new constellations slept with cosy silence upon the powdered snow. Red, blue, and green; the fallen stars did not twinkle. What were they? Sedron asked himself. No tale or legend spoke of sleeping gods who came to lie in silence.

 “The fury of Karthuz rages before us, he protects his kin who wish to sleep,” Alfron shouted to be hard upon the wind. Respite from the weather of Cheam had been only fleeting. “Behold Kathuz and his offspring.”

 “Aye, behold Karthuz,” Cotyr added.

 Sedron kept quiet. He offered no conclusion for he could not understand how the others knew this was Karthuz. They had to be gods, but why not Armenuz or Galon? Why Karthuz? It did not matter for now the men were at ease. Bad weather was forgotten, the gods have arrived. Will they listen to our prayers, provide us with food, and reveal their godly serenity to us? What fortune it would be for Sedon, son of Ilkand, the village chief, to bring gods back to the village. With such power would come great wealth. Our rivals will despair.

 Sedron lead them forward, they would venture forth and meet their makers.

 

 “What sort of creatures are they? Sedron asked. He lead the team ever closer. The silence was long broken. The gods did not sleep silently but emitted a deeply resonant hum. The creatures, gods if they were, looked strange. What should a supreme being look like? Not like this. These were not gods. Surely not.

 Confidence dwindled, even in Alfron who was the first to declare that these lights were the gods. It was Karthuz he said, he insisted. No fewer than ten creatures now stood as straight-legged silhouettes against the mountains. The jaws of the unexpected beasts fell upon the snow to reveal an eery glow from inside their throats. As the team closed in Sedron could see that the creatures had large box-like bodies that were stuck atop four stiff legs. Were these the horses of the gods? Fashioned with lanterns that burn so bright that all can see them from far across the heavens.

 Strange animals they must be if their natural resting position is to stand up straight with mouth ajar. Sedron soon noticed differences among them, some were slightly taller and longer, while others were fatter with shorter legs. Each of them were easily as tall as the village temple, if not taller.

 “Karthuz!” Alfron shouted.

 “Quiet, you idiot,” Sedron yanked on his brother’s cloak. How did these foul beasts fall like stars? As the group drew nearer Sedron stepped more quietly. The creatures’ skin shimmered like polished metal: clean, smooth and unyielding. The wind did not ruffle any hair or feathers.

 “Look at their eyes,” Cotyr said. He stood just behind Sedron and pointed to the nearest of the fallen stars. “Why do they only have one eye? It shines so brightly… like a star, yet it is long and thin.”

 They edged closer still. The resonant hum of the beasts had quietened. The coloured lanterns on the legs of the beasts dimmed while the lights from the jaws grew brighter. A gasp of air escaped and perspective changed forever. Familiar shapes emerged from the mouths of the animals thought to be gods.

 Bipeds.

 

NB:

The ending isn’t quite finished, I’d like to add a little bit more without destroying the impact. 😉