Everwinter: The Forerunner Archives
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Authors: J. Rock
EVERWINTER:
THE FORERUNNER ARCHIVES
☯
a novel by
J. Rock
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Copyright 2014 by J. Rock
All art/graphics by J. Rock
Kindle Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Other works by J. Rock, available at all online ebook retailers:
Dinosauria Part I: A Memor
y of Time (Free)
Dinosauria Volume I
(
also available in serial format
)
Dinosauria Volume II
(
also available in serial format
)
Dinosauria Volume III
(
also available in serial format
)
This one’s for Jude. Daddy loves you.
I often dream that I’m the last human alive.
The dream seems to come when the winds are blowing from the north, where it is said the Great Poison took root, making natural things unnatural and a mockery of creation. I don’t know if I believe it; I’ve seen one of the very few maps of this side of the world in my Father’s study, and to the north there is nothing but water. A vast black ocean. The south is much the same. How could the Poison come from the sea?
We live in the province of Eversummer on the world’s only continent–a craggy strip of land that circles the globe at the equator. Eversummer is on a northern sea bound peninsula and our city, Krakelyn, is at its tip. My
Father’s map shows all the known cities on this side of the world–there aren’t many–and all the zones that are habitable.
There aren’t many of those either.
In my dream, I’m traversing the barren streets of some
unnamable city. It’s not Krakelyn, but it always looks the same: two-story, wood framed buildings, thatched roofs, stucco walls. I’m searching for somebody. Anybody. I call out and I scream and I yell, but no one comes. I know it shouldn't be possible, but it is.
The world is empty and I’m the only one left.
I'm the last human.
It’s then that I see the footprints, starting out of nowhere in the middle of the street and defining a path through blizzarding snow that goes on forever. Funny, I almost forgot to mention the snow. You’d think I wouldn’t let something as important as that slip my mind. After all, I’ve never seen snow before. In real life, I mean. There’s a reason they call our province Eversummer; it's the same reason we call the other side of the world Everwinter.
It doesn’t snow here.
Ever
.
I don’t even know what snow is
really. My Father says it’s a form of solid water, but I can’t wrap my head around the concept. We don't get snow in Eversummer because the sun never leaves the sky, making the land and air too warm. But my Father, he says that as you get closer to the other side of the world, the sun begins to slip below the horizon then disappears altogether, taking the light of the world with it, leaving only dark, and cold, and snow.
And mutants.
I know it sounds crazy, but it’s been documented. Verified.
But I'm getting off track here.
In the dream, I follow the footprints through the snow and they terminate at a house at the end of an all
ey. I step up and knock on the door but, as I do, I hear
all
the other doors in the alley opening at once. Suddenly, I’m no longer alone in the world, and the twisted, frightening people that shamble out of the houses all tell me the same thing.
They whisper it.
Summer is ending...
“Oh, there’s always rumors going around like that,” Jude blurts, giving me a ra
ised eyebrow kind of look. “My Mom says summer was supposed to end when she was a kid too.”
I shrug nonchalantly, then narrow my blue-gray eyes at him and say, “So that was at least a century ago, right?”
Jude moves toward me, matching my grin. Then he raises his right hand to my face and, to my surprise, pinches my lips shut. “Do me a favor, and just shut up, okay, Juno?”
I shove him away playfully, his fingers ripping away from my mouth, the sensation akin to sandpaper and fire. “Fine, cry baby,” I say, using my still burning lips to steal a quick peck from his c
heek. I change the subject. “What do you think we’ll find today?” I ask the question, despite already knowing his response.
Jude smirks deliberately, unsurprised by the change in topic. “I dunno. Maybe one of those fancy flying carriages that are in all the stories. Or maybe a whatayacallit? A synthetic brain.”
“You mean a cumpewter,” I correct him. “That’s what my Father says they’re called.”
Jude scowls. “How would he know? Unless he’s a thousand years old, he wasn’t around to see ‘em, Juno.”
It’s my turn to scowl. “They’re just stories, Jude.”
He stops abruptly on the trail we’re following. We call it Woody Trail, but only because we aren’t clever enough to come up with something better. Tall, leafy whitewoods, and broad thick sentinel pines line the way before us. Jude has stopped at the bottom of the last rise before the beach
–our destination–but the look on his face suggests he’s in no hurry to get there.
He says: “Then where did they come from, Juno? The stories, I mean. Why do we come down here every day if the stories aren’t real?”
I shrug at him and make my tone formal, mocking my Father’s: “Why do we get up in the morning?
Hope
. There’s always the hope that they might be real. It’s the hope that we might find something to give us a better life, to lead us to salvation.” I pause, seeing the unimpressed look on Jude's cherubic face. I just smile and continue. "But we won’t. We all know that the Forerunners were real; the same as we know that the sun will never leave the sky. But the Forerunners had their time, and they perished. They left behind some wonderful things, but we shouldn’t be quick to embrace them. As the saying goes: The ways of the Forerunners..."
"...are the ways of death,” Jude finishes for me.
“Right,” I smile as I take his hand in mine, feeling his trepidation as I lead him up the rise. He hesitates for a moment, but then I finally feel him squeezing my fingers gently.
“Too bad you don’t believe it though,
” he says, moving as I pull him along.
I turn a smirk back on him. “Sounds convincing though, right?”
He shrugs. “It’s fooled your Father, so far.”
“I know. I
t’s almost
too
good. If he found out that we actually
keep
some of the stuff we find...”
“Whataya mean
we
?” Jude replies with a foolish grin.
“I mean that if I get caught, I’m taking you down with me.” I wink at him.
“Oh, thanks. You’re such a good friend, Juno Quinn.”
“I know,” I reply as we breast the top of the hill. The beach comes into view and, though I’d like to tell you it took my breath away, tha
t wouldn’t be true. The fact is: I'm sick of that view. I’d been tasked by my Father, almost a year ago now, to come down to this hidden cove every day after work. A group of adventurous Krakelyn boys discovered the place and the treasures it contained, reporting it to my Father. Big mistake on their part.
I would’ve kept it a secret.
This is mine and Jude’s special place; a place we can duck the rigors of our home lives and just
be
together. Jude and I are the only ones allowed down here. It was only me, at first, but then I finally convinced (okay, begged) my old man to let Jude join me. We're always alone down here, in practice, but of course, there's always the chance of being spied upon by my Father’s men. The Deacons. We rarely actually see them but, every once in a while, we get a feeling; I guess you’d call it. We know when they’re watching us. That’s why whenever we take something from the beach, we do it discreetly, scouting the area before sneaking back with our treasure in tow.
Gifts from the Forerunners.
“So, what do you think the dream means?” Jude asks, this time leading me on as we descend the slope to the beach. Cool, pale sand engulfs my toes as I sink into it, my leather sandals providing zero cover.
Not that I mind.
“How should I know?” I reply. “It’s just a dream.”
“Ha! There’s the understatement of the century!” Jude bellows. “Just a dream? Conveniently you leave out the tendency for your dreams to come true!”
“No, they don’t!” I say with just a hint of annoyance. “That’s only happened, well,
twice
I guess. But those were just coincidences!”
Jude glares at me with his earthy brown eyes. “Was it coincidence that brought you to my house that morning and begged me not to go to work?” Not knowing what to say I just shrug, feeling stupid. “And was it a coincidence that there was a cave-in at the pit that day?”
he finishes.
“You’re welcome,” I snipe at him, but only because I know he’s right.
“You know what I mean, Juno. You came to me that morning all in hysterics, telling me you had a bad feeling...
From a dream!
And I believed you, thank the gods!” I smile at that. It's one of the reasons I like Jude so much; he's always on my side, no matter what kind of craziness I may be spouting. He has my back like no other. He says: “An incident like that happening one time, well, yeah, it
could
be a coincidence. But twice? That’s more like something akin to a...”
“A mutant?” I finish for him, my indignation coming back ten-fold. Jude just nods his head. I grumble, “Why do you think we’ve never told anyone about it. Right?”
Jude frowns. “Of course not! Don’t worry, Juno, I’ve never told anyone about your prophetic dreams. And I don’t think you’re a mutant. I don’t think it has anything to do with a mutation–”
“Good,” I interrupt, lowering my voice to the best approximation of my
Father’s: “Thou shalt not suffer a mutant to live!”
Jude keeps talking as if I’d never cut him off: “I think it’s something else. Like a gift or something.”
I'm thrown off. “A gift? You mean, like from the gods?” I never took Jude to be the religious type, though I suppose we’ve never broached the topic much.
“Well, if you want to put it that way. Yeah, I guess. I mean,
not in the dogmatic sense your Father believes in the gods, but there
has
to be something else out there besides us, Juno.”
“There
is
something,” I say, but I’m not looking at Jude.
I’ve stopped on the sand about ten feet from the high tide
line. Jude follows suit, following my gaze. My heart is pounding a snare roll in my chest, the adrenaline heightening all my senses. I’m staring down the beach–
way
down the beach–because there’s something washed up on the shore. I can
just
make it out because it causes an irregular splash where the waves catch it.
“What is it?” Jude asks in a whisper.
“I... I dunno,” I say, hardly louder. We’re both frozen, daring not to move. What if it’s something good? What if it's something from the stories, like a cumpewter or an electric compass? Every history I’ve ever heard of the Forerunners flies through my brain in the intervening seconds. Every glorious, magical device that they were supposed to have created. And then my Father’s voice intercedes, overtaking the images: “
They were so great, and yet, they failed. So utter and complete was their downfall that we have but fragments of their history and artifacts. The mutants of Everwinter are their creation, and because we are their ancestors we must continue to atone for their sins. We must keep the stock pure and never suffer a mutant to live, until the day comes when all lines are pure and the gods have forgiven us
.”