Young Writers Society

Unto Winter Eternal

Falling like ashes from a grey firmament, snowflakes fluttered in pirouetting patterns to alight on once-verdant loam paled by hoarfrost. Even the turkey-tail that had always sprouted from that crack in the abutment of the western wall and the southern one had succumbed to the White Empire’s eternal winter—for seven long years, Abzu was trapped in this ghostly reflection of its vibrant former self. It was a world known for its great oceans. Now, the ice caps to the north had thickened to such proportions that they flirted with tundra and rocky boreal plains not so far from here.

The doctor, a man of below-average height and above-average girth—a consequence of a stocky, lean build, not of over-indulgence—regarded the sloping hill outside his window with distant eyes. His irises were a shade of umber so deep they were often mistaken for black until light struck amber flecks spotting them, and the hair he kept short in a hail back to his days in the Nercean military was of a similarly near-jet hue. Presently, a cigarette hung loosely from between the two forefingers of his left hand, and the incandescent tip of it was so overcome with a line of ash that the dull glow was nigh-imperceptible.

For forty days and forty nights, the ancestral flood that made Abzu this ocean-bound planet supposedly raged centuries ago; for forty days and forty nights the lightning broke the skies into spattered fragments and those holes, unable to fully heal, became stars. Forty days and forty nights that no man but Noé himself saw. Forty days, forty nights, until the Wildbull’s, God’s, first merciful grace to humankind.

“Oy, doctor.” The woman who addressed him had a slight figure characteristic of the forest-dwellers to the northeast, with a shock of white hair shaved on one side and cobalt eyes shining brighter than the most vibrant sapphire. “We’re almost ready. You going to be good to go?”

“Of course, Miss Diamond.” With one finger, the surgeon extinguished his smoke, and pocketed the dogend. “You have the amulets already?”

“Yessir. They should work just fine until we can get a few folks who can translate the older languages for us. At least get us in contact with the Last Circle. I just finished testing the last of them with Carter.”

“That is a relief.”

“Sure.” A few beats of silence ended when the physician drew himself from his reverie, and in so doing turned to face his interlocutor.

“Well, if that is all, then now is as good a time as any,” he supposed, and she nodded in agreement before he lifted the key from his pocket and led the way to the basement.

The stairs were precipitous and the low-ceilinged chambers below, tenebrous. With only an oil lamp to illuminate the room of smooth stone, shadows clung to the corners like cobwebs. They seemed to breathe with a life of their own in the flickering firelight. An altar—one the house’s current master could not bring himself to desecrate in spite of its perturbing nature—was upon a dais in one corner, watched over by a bovine skull with great horns and adorned with intricate designs carved into it. It was large enough for a goat, or perhaps a child, to be laid comfortably upon. Blood still stained grooves in the dais itself.

Hedging about the thing, Noah—for this was the doctor’s first name—placed the lamp on the ground near a circle Diamond had drawn on the ground. It dominated the better part of the cellar, and aside from it and the altar, the chambers were bare: no weapons or boxes were stored here. Only one door could be found underneath the stairs, but it was stone and its seams blended masterfully into the wall so that one who didn’t already know of it would have some difficulty detecting it.

Carter, the only other person who dared descend the stairs behind him, closed the door at the top of the stairs and then came to his coworker’s side. He was a full head taller than Noah and of mixed descent, his skin a middling tone of tawny-brown and hair several shades darker than Noah’s own. An air of seriousness had settled between the trio.

If this failed, then it could mean their executions and the end of this branch of the rebellion. If it succeeded, it could make the difference between the next generation living under the Winter King’s tyrannical reign or their great-great-grandchildren still toiling in a snow-covered land.

“Amulets,” Diamond said, and handed Carter a small box. He took one of the pieces from it and then handed it to Noah, who took the next, threading it around his wrist instead of dangling it from his neck. She replaced the box into Noah’s pocket—he was the only one of them wearing a coat, and if one took any notice of his rattling breath and haggard look, the reason why was clear—then stepped forward into the circle and closed her eyes. Her lips moved in a language forgotten by most mortals. Then, in a dim pulsing, the circle began to glow and brighten with each chanted syllable.

It was a series of instants so swift that their sum might equal a few seconds. She closed her hands; the light became blinding; there was a great and thunderous roar that trembled the foundations of this ancient homestead; something sent a frigid draft through the cellar that was rank with rot; silhouettes became visible in the white brilliance. Then, as soon as it formed, it was collapsing with an awful sound that had the same quality as nails on a blackboard, grating and violent, before suddenly the room was dark again. Scattered around Diamond in the center of the strange circle, hurled to the ground by the portal’s force, were several humanish forms that had been caught in the portal’s unexpected flurry and brought to this place. Its immediate implosion closed their only way home—and all too quickly, it was dawning on doctor and his partners that they were most certainly not the Sukurians the trio had expected.

"Hey. Hey Zombie," a voice said from behind Kyle. "Guess who I saw today?"

Kyle sighed. He was trying to weed out one of the gardens he had been tending to for the past week. One of the newest arrivals to Mutopia had accidentally brought something invasive over on their ship, and it had taken over all of the gardens. Cybele and Biome, for the most part, had a policy of letting anything grow, but the invasive vine was choking out all of the produce.

Now that Jo had arrived, Kyle doubted that he was going to finish his task.

"Who did you see?" he asked, giving her the benefit of the doubt.

"Cybele," Jo said, with all of the reverence most people had when talking about the all powerful being who had created Mutopia. "She wished me good luck, for some reason? And told me to talk to Biome later when I got back."

Kyle wasn't impressed. He took off his gloves and looked back at Jo. They were standing there wearing their favorite purple varsity jacket, as well as the knife pendant they had from before the Dark Year. With that, their sneakers, and their jeans, Jo didn't really come across as someone who was presumably about to get sent on an all important mission.

"So?" Kyle asked, deciding it was best to play oblivious for now.

"So," Jo said. "It's Cybele! And Cybele told me to go to Biome! I've only seen Marvellous and Chatterbox once up close, back when they first welcomed us to island."

When Kyle kept giving her an unimpressed look, Jo sighed.

"Of course you wouldn't get it," Jo said, shaking their head. "You see Cybele and Biome all of the time."

Kyle shrugged. He didn't really get the appeal. Cybele was an all powerful being, sure, but the rest of the island was filled with mutants. And it was hard to see Biome too seriously once he had caught Chatterbox stealing some of the tomatoes before he picked them. "Why did you come to me?"

Jo faltered.

"Well," Jo started, "Cybele kind of implied that I'd want a friend for whatever was going to happen? And we did get through that time in the Wastes, together, so..."

Kyle groaned. He got to his feet and brushed the dirt off of his pants. "I don't want to go on a mission-"

"Don't think of it as a mission!" Jo protested. "Think of it as a fun bonding experience that we just have to tell Biome about afterwards."

Kyle groaned again. He picked up his gardening gloves from the ground and was ready to go seek out Cybele himself for an explanation, but that was when the portal decided to appear and swallow both Jo and Kyle.

The two slammed into the ground thanks to the force of the portal. Jo groaned in pain, and Kyle just accepted his fate and pain as he laid there on the ground. He really didn't want to do this today, whatever this was.

Things were peaceful. It was late in the morning, and the bright 10am sun filtered into the windows through thin, misty clouds. Right outside, they could see the vibrant blue ocean water lapping up on the sandy shores of Sardenia, a beautiful little island off the coast of Italy where by miracle of having wealthy, generous friends (namely by the name of Kartiel), he and Mel were able to visit for their honeymoon.

They were staying in a little house right on the beach - and it had a full kitchen, which was essential for Bo. Mel kept encouraging him to try not cooking on vacation, but she knew he still would, because food was one of his favorite ways to show he loved people. So naturally, Mel was going to be his most loved on recipient, as his newly wed wife.

Happily, he started making breakfast in the kitchen, humming quietly to himself so he didn’t make too much noise. He didn’t want to wake her, since he wanted breakfast in bed to be a surprise.

The kitchen was a little small and cozy for a man of his height and size, but he still managed to do a little dance from the sink to the fridge, patting along the wood floor with bare feet.

He’d been so careful to sneak out of bed that he didn’t bother putting real clothes on, so he was just dancing around in his t-shirt and boxers, with an apron he found in the cupboards thrown over it.

It was a very cute little apron, with delicately embroidered wildflowers and bunnies dancing across it. Bo liked to imagine a grandma wearing it some generations before, when she might’ve lived in this house, making breakfast full of love and tastiness for her spouse as well.

The way he saw it, he was only carrying on tjw tradition in her stead.

Leaning over the fridge, Bo pulled out several vegetables and eggs into his arms. Onions, potatoes, cheese, the works.

He was going to make the most beautiful omelet ever laid eyes upon by mankind. For Mel!

As he set the ingredients down on the counter, he scanned the cupboards and shelves for the tools he needed. In one hand, he grabbed a cast iron pan off a hook on the wall. In the other hand, he grabbed a wooden spoon.

And then, the most inconvenient thing happened.

Out of nowhere, a portal opened up underneath him. With no recourse or time to jump away, Bo free-fell through the void, and instantaneously landed on his feet. His bare feet hit cold, stone flooring, and he went from being in a room filled with morning sunshine to one very poorly lit. It wasn’t really even lit at all. Whoever decorated wasn’t even trying.

Staring into the darkness, waiting for his one eye to adjust, Bo found himself once again, in some kind of inter-dimensional time warp madness. Only this time, he was at least fully conscious for the transition.

Except… he was in his underwear and an apron. Holding a pan and a spoon.

“You know,” he said, far too numb to these situations to be beyond making jokes at a time like this. “I feel like I just walked into a punchline.”

He squinted at the humanoid shadows around him, hoping they weren’t hostile.

“Any chance you guys have an extra pair of extra long pants lying around? Or any shoes over size thirteen?”

Brian leapt out the window into the cardboard sky, and flew higher and higher until he had seen the edges of the sky JPEG loop three times. There he hovered in that empty sky, and felt the paper sakura petals flutter against his face.

“Please,” he said. “Please let me out.”

The cherry blossoms that battered the prisoner's face dispersed into vapour, and Brian the fairy fell into a deep, dusty cardboard box, stuffed to groaning with ancient magazines.

He experimentally pulled out a magazine from underneath him, and squinted dumbfounded at the cover. Strongholds and Citadels Special Christmas Issue 1971, it read.

Brian sneezed.

But in the dust cloud that sprung forth, he noticed something. He ran his hands through his dusty, cobwebby hair.

“Huh,” he said, confused. “I’m free. My prayer- my prayer was answered?”

Brian had to laugh. He was free. The accursed powder blue school suit, that prison uniform- it was gone! Brian was once again wearing one of his favourite short sleeved button up shirts, featuring fuzzy koalas posing cheerfully on eucalyptus trees, on a backdrop of white blue and white vertical stripes. Already his lust for life was coming back to him.

Brian zoomed up from the cardboard box, and flitted speedily about the room, trailing threads of cobwebs as he went. He happily investigated the gothic decor, and the people within, making even less effort than usual not to look like a goggle-eyed creep.

Every once in a while he would make an unsolicited comment, such as ‘Inscrutable dark corners, good start’, or ‘Mm, a sacrifice podium, alrighty,’ and that was when he was speaking legible sentences instead of just mumbling eldritch babble that he was deciphering in real time from weird shapes he saw in the ceiling.

Next, he began to assess his co-stars. This part should have been an internal monologue, but he never cared to keep these things to himself even when he wasn't vibrating with elation at having been freed from a pocket dimension prison.

“Some more nerds caught up in this, nice nice, two plucky kid detectives slash audience surrogates, and a goofy, lovable strong guy- solid cast already,"

“Lady in the circle- there’s our summoner, nice nice- summoner’s friends, mhmmm-”

He flitted over to the pair of goths, the ones who looked like they were supposed to be here. Some rough-and-tumble sorcerer warriors, it seemed. He circled about them impolitely, and after a few loops, stopped to a hover at the eye level of the tallest in the crew.

It occurred to Brian then that perhaps he should say some words actually addressed toward the people around him. And smile. People like smiles.

"Oh, thanks for inviting me, by the way." he said. "You wouldn't believe the maddening pit that you just plucked me from. If you summoned me as a snack for your dark god, this was still a step up, and I have the maturity to offer you my gratitude all the same."

At first, Bo thought a bird was flying around the cold, dark room when he heard the sound of flapping wings. But when the person finally stopped long enough for Bo to make them out, he realized the guy was a winged person, kind of resembling a fairy.

He glanced at the other figures around them, turning his head from side to side to make them all out. There were two teens (or young adults - some people had young faces), and three other adults who looked a little more in place. Probably the ones responsible for the summoning the fairy went on about.

"He can tell I'm goofy, strong, and loveable just within a few seconds of seeing me?" he asked more to himself as he scratched his beard with his spoon-holding hand and tilted his head to the side. "Huh. Must be the fit."

Brian forgot his hosts and swooped over to his tanned, well-bearded co-star.

"Bruh, the fit is impeccable. Be comfortable. Assert dominance." He nodded.

Sure, it wasn't weird to complement a bro on his comfy civvies. Why not. On that note, he proceeded to casually introduce himself, still hovering with his hands in his pockets.

"Oh, I'm I'm Brian Flanagan. Fairy, Interdimensional Detective from The Court of Oberon, I've lost track of my dimension's serial number, unfortunately."

He wiped the cobwebs off his hands, and offered a shake.

Bo grinned. He liked this guy already.

Taking Brian Flanagan's hand, Bo gave him a nice firm handshake.

"You can call me Bo," he said. "I'm just some guy who makes food for a living on a little planet called Earth."

Jo, having finally recovered after slamming into the ground, hopped to her feet and looked over the incredibly tall and muscular man and the one who looked like a fairy. Or maybe he was a fairy. Jo wouldn't have been surprised if those existed back on Earth because, you know, Cybele, but they were in another place now. Maybe another Earth, maybe an alternate reality, maybe in space. Whatever it was, fairies were totally going to be possible, so she was thinking of Brian as a fairy instead of a mutant until he said otherwise.

"I'm Jo," Jo said, popping over. "Also known as TBD. Kyle's on the ground-"

As if wanting to prove her wrong, Kyle finally got to his feet.

"Was on the ground," Jo corrected. "He also goes by Zombie."

"I can introduce myself," Kyle said, pocketing his gardening gloves. He didn't add anything else to the introductions. Jo had probably said everything he was going to say.

"We're not kid detectives, by the way," Jo added. It wasn't really with an indignant tone. She just was stating a fact. "Kyle's our island's main gardener, and I'm a musician who does odd jobs."

The magic had not failed per se, merely achieved a different purpose than it set out to—like when one left to catch a great and noble stag and came back with four emaciated, mangy hares instead. Foreign languages were abuzz throughout the chamber and one of them was flying (flying? not on angelic wings, that was certain, for he most closely resembled some bizarre, humanlike, giant faerie, and even this was something of a stretch).

The newcomers did not seem as perturbed by this unexpected and unintended turn of events as Doctor Tanner himself clearly was—his expression flickered first through shock, then frustration, before landing on something between stoicism and consternation. Carter, still standing beside him, was more transparent than his much-shorter companion (who was taller than the faerie and no one else): his countenance betrayed boldfaced fear. It was easy to mistake this terror as directed at otherworldly aliens. To the contrary, it was a look of realization that no Sukurians were coming but the White Legion most certainly would be with a spell of these proportions imploding.

Diamond herself didn't miss a beat. Almost immediately, she was passing out amulets and indicating the strangers ought to put them on—larger than Noah but with a slimmer figure, she was absolutely dwarfed by the nearly-seven-foot-tall man she approached first.

"We're fucked," Carter whispered, and Noah nodded agreement.

Brian Flanagan. Bo, a chef. Jo, or "TBD," a musician, and her companion Kyle "Zombie," a...gardener.

They'd just summoned a chef, a gardner, a musician, and an "Interdimensional Detective" who lost his dimension's serial number into their basement.

God have mercy.

It was Diamond who stepped forward first. Noah remained next to and a few centimeters behind Carter, arms crossed and face stony with concern and concentration.

"I'm Diamond. These are doctors Carter Calloway and Noah Tanner—" she indicated each of them, respectively, "—and you're in the realm of Abzu. I'm afraid that bringing all of you here was...uh..."

"An error." Now Noah spoke. He didn't precisely exude a welcoming aura but he wasn't hostile, either, merely serious. His tone was somber but his voice was raspy and thin. "An error, I'm afraid, we don't have the current means to remedy. Carter, please go monitor the alarms and watch for the Legion. Miss Diamond, check the buffers and see if this was probably detected by the occupation."

Carter, more nervous than his blue-eyed and white-haired female counterpart, hesitated before turning to scramble up the stairs. Diamond only went to do as she was ordered with a brief nod in Noah's direction.

"In spite of the...somewhat ominous environment, we intend no harm to you. We were attempting to summon otherworldly allies. Are you all strangers to one-another, as well? Except for the two of you, of course," he amended, nodding towards Kyle and Jo.

This was a lot to take in. Bo was getting chilly, and he was suppressing both hunger and the sense of overwhelming dread that this was happening again.

Abzu. He’d never heard of the world, but it was all happening again, wasn’t it? He was stuck in some other world, maybe dimension, and the people who brought him here didn’t have a way to get him back. “An error, “ they said, without saying accident, or sorry… not yet, anyway.

Something about all of this felt like a mean joke. A setup, not by these accidental summoners, and not even by some powerful being - he didn’t know by who - but someone wanted to watch him squirm. Not outwardly, of course, because he was used to keeping a cool head. He had to be functional. Stable. He was always the emotional stability to everyone else’s panic - and it wasn’t even a role he resented. It just… happened.

But he could feel something inside of him straining. Like a barrier, worn too thin. Or like a string, close to snapping.

They were being assured they weren’t in danger of the doctors whose names he already forgot, but without saying much, he already understood they weren’t safe.

The Legion? They might’ve been detected by “the occupation?” They were in need of otherworldly allies?

“We’re all strangers,” Bo confirmed, and hardly paused before hitting them with his next question. “So what did we just get dragged into? Is there a war going on right now? What’s the legion?”

And he hadn’t even gotten started on the seemingly random bracelets they’d been given to wear.

A certain amount of relief betrayed itself in Noah's posture. His weight was consistently splayed evenly between his legs, arms clasped before him, with the habitual rigidity of a soldier. It was easier to answer these questions than make clumsy attempts at the bedside manner he'd always been accused of lacking.

"Yes. Well—perhaps not a war any longer. This world has been torn by war for many years, and since the Great War, a global calamity, ended over a decade ago, tensions never left. The short of it is that a man, called the Winter King, invaded Abzu some three years past. First it was economic and subversive—peddling drugs and whatnot. Then came the plagues, which still cannot be cured and run rampant in urban districts. Then were the stalkers, undead amalgams that are crafted by the most advanced necromancy and capable of turning men into shambling corpses. After that was the White Legion. They aren't human. Some call them demons—superstition and technical pedantry is besides the point. They're the occupying military force and execution is ofttimes a mercy if you get caught.

"This town is a rural one. The Legion's reach does touch us but...not so much as it would in the capital. Diamond, Carter, myself, and many others are part of a rebellion, and we were attempting to make contact with the Last Circle—a faction that's opposed the Winter King's rule long before his empire reached Abzu—when we accidentally summoned you.

"Diamond and Carter are seeing to it that, if the Legion is coming, we will have warning. This town is an old town, with...old magic." His gaze flickered to the altar. "Primordial magic. Dark, some of it, but these lands are saturated with it nonetheless. Don't worry—none of us are practitioners of such ways. Diamond is a magus but she does not work in blood sacrifice like the last man who lived here did.

"You are as safe here as you could hope to be anywhere, in this time. Shadwell is free of plague and Carter and I are skilled physicians and surgeons. Once they check that things are safe upstairs, we will see about getting you all proper clothes and discussing things over tea properly. I...extend my most sincere apologies for this mishap. The odds of such a miscalculation were incredibly low, and if it is any consolation, it is a last resort. We would never have taken such risk were it not necessary to have even a chance at ending the winter eternal."

Jo took in a sharp, quick breath as Noah finished explaining what had led up to this moment. It reminded her too much of the recent past of their own Earth, and she didn't like thinking about those days in too much detail.

"Another apocalypse," they said, softly.

Kyle's posture had changed since they first arrived here. He still didn't want to have anything to do with this, but there was a grim, mature acceptance that hadn't entirely been there before. The Dark Year had only lasted a year. It wasn't anything like what they had experienced here.

But Kyle and Jo had dealt with some of the most terrifying parts of it, and it was hard to be downright terrified when she remembered how the two of them had outwitted Michael's constructs time and time again.

Plus, Cybele had asked them to talk to Biome. So it only was fair for them to help out while they were here, wasn't it? Especially after knowing how poorly those rebelling were usually treated?

Jo looked over at Kyle. Kyle looked over at her. They were good at telling what each other was thinking after spending the Dark Year together.

"We can help," Kyle offered.

Jo nodded in agreement.

"Neither one of us are fighters," Jo said, "but both of us are good at surviving."

She held off on saying what the two of them really were, just in case that wouldn't fly here. Noah had already mentioned primordial things, and their powers were as primordial as they could get back on Earth.

There was something sad in Noah's eyes when he heard the younger two speak. In a merciful world, they would not have to fight—but they were old enough for the draft, if he had to guess it, and he'd known war since his youth, too. It was not a forgiving world, Abzu or whatever one these two youths hailed from.

"I am certain that, whatever skills you have, you can be of use. We never have enough hands. It is not the apocalypse, however—that may hold a different meaning for you, but the elder things that would awaken in such a circumstance are still asleep. We contend only with mortals, thankfully." This time. It was a grim reassurance and all he could offer.

Bo took in a slow, deep breath, letting the sobriety and the severity of their situation sink in. As if speed-running through the five stages of grief, Bo found himself heavily arriving at acceptance. He had been through this enough that he knew this was real. He had been through this enough that he knew this wasn't something to be treated lightly - not if he wanted to have any chance of going back home to his wife, who was going to wake up to an empty house where he should've been to wake her up.

It pained him deeply that she was going to wake up and he couldn't do anything about the panic, confusion, and worry to come. It was one of his greatest fears made real: he'd get ripped out of his reality again, and it would hurt the people he cared about most.

He didn't know if or when Kartiel would find out, or when Mel would think to tell him. He didn't know how long it would take to get back home this time. He didn't know anything. He only knew what he was being told.

They had been summoned to a post-war world with an oppressive leader to a resistance group. They’d been working towards it for a while, it seemed.

The teens apparently came from an apocalyptic world, which put then at an advantage, but his heart did hurt for them, knowing they had to have gone through hell.

He stood up straighter and tucked his spoon into the pocket of his dainty apron and he held the cast iron pan at his side.

“I can help however is needed,” he said. “If or when trouble arises, I am a capable fighter. I’m not sure what kind of weaponry you have in this world, but I’m a proficient marksman, so long as we’re talking guns and not bows and arrows. But as far as immediate concerns go, if you want any help preparing food, I can also offer my expertise.”

How was Brian useful? He could easily list for an hour the points that made him lovable, but useful, he had to think about it a little more. Hmm.

Brian touched down slowly, setting foot on the floor for the first time since he arrived. He put his hand to his chin in a hopefully subtle play at modesty.

"I can fly," he said casually. "I throw knives, and I have a pocket dimension. It's about the size of a cello case. Nothing like it for smuggling things without a trace. So long as they could fit in a cello case, but still."

By the end of it his tone had picked up a self-satisfied lilt, and he was counting his skills on his fingers like wonders of the world.

"Oh, I'm also really, really good at diversions, and strategically irritating people."

It was evident he held pride in that last one. He had a gift, it was true.