And, despite all their intentions to the contrary, more time did pass. And so little was accomplished in that span. It wore on them like wind eroded the sides of the island's cliffs, the same way that seawater rusted the hulls of derelict ships. Soon, the weight on their shoulders left them sore to the bones. But they walked onward.
They found somewhere to stay, a small corner of the mines—the changing room—and endeavored to hide away for the night as they slept and recharged. The room was full of lockers, thrown open, looted, and empty. On the ground was a corpse, surrounded by a pool of blood and scattered plastic remnants smashed earlier.
They didn't know its name, only that it had died long before they arrived. The stench of iron and rot was horrid. As best they could, they ignored it and bundled her in the discarded, moth-eaten clothes of the workers that once passed through this place. Then, they carried her out, unbidden pallbearers, and placed her outside.
Though the corpse was out of sight, it was not out of mind. The two wiped the crimson, rotten blood from the walls with a grim persistence—a Sisyphean task, if you considered where they were—until they could no longer feel the taste of iron on their tongues. Then, they replaced their fetid, acrid clothes with replacements.
Still, they found no peace as they slept, only further rot and death deep within their dreams and nightmares.
S061: ALEXANDER HAWTHORNE — CONTINUED FROM "The Human Element"
Alexander awoke to the sound of the announcements—lists of names he barely remembered, people he had scarcely known. To him, they weren't quite humans. Or, more so, he had trouble remembering them as such. They were more like markers of time, grains of sand as they slipped down to the lower half of the hourglass.
He sat up, head throbbing and full of pain, throat parched. The stench of rot had again wafted back into the room, iron on the tips of their tongues. The walls did so little to block it out. His rest last night had not been restful; he had tossed and turned all night, tortured by anxieties and terrors deep within his chest.
He knew the answer as to why. None of this—their endeavor, his plans—would be tenable at this pace. And, for that matter, the consequences of their association would sure be too grave. His next question was how to solve it. And, as hard as he thought, he could conjure only one solution. It was for the best. It was mercy.
"Valentin," he said. "We need to talk."
Mediation
[Day 3, Private.]
((Valentin Shulgin continues from The Human Element))
The only company Valentin and Alexander had met for the past day, aside from each other, was the smashed, near-unrecognizable corpse of a girl. They had spent hours in its vicinity, almost but never quite acclimating to the aerosolized copper lingering in the air.
Yet another announcement had passed, this time marking the death of ten of their classmates. A slight deceleration, hopefully.
All of this corroded Valentin's soul, slowly but surely.
And yet somehow, the words Alexander had uttered just now were the ones that brought a chill down his spine.
"Yes?" he dared to ask.
The only company Valentin and Alexander had met for the past day, aside from each other, was the smashed, near-unrecognizable corpse of a girl. They had spent hours in its vicinity, almost but never quite acclimating to the aerosolized copper lingering in the air.
Yet another announcement had passed, this time marking the death of ten of their classmates. A slight deceleration, hopefully.
All of this corroded Valentin's soul, slowly but surely.
And yet somehow, the words Alexander had uttered just now were the ones that brought a chill down his spine.
"Yes?" he dared to ask.
Alexander didn't meet the gaze of his companion. In the morning light, Valentin's eyes, with their gray color, seemed like spheres of ice, and their look sent a chill across him. He looked down and pulled at the collar of his dark blue dress shirt. For a moment, the words caught in his throat. Silence reigned, the room its dominion, the two of them its subjects.
Then, he cut through it. Alexander, like his namesake, took a blade to the verbal Gordian knot.
"I think we should go our separate ways for now."
Ten words summarized all his thoughts, all his fears. His manner of speaking was blunt, like a mace, but had no sharp edges of malice. His eyes, usually cool as ice, were uncertain and shook slightly, a melting glacier in a boiling sea. It was clear, despite it all, that he meant this as something for the best—and that it did not come easy to him.
"We've spent a lot of time and have accomplished less than we should have. I think it would be prudent for the two of us to cover more ground than, thus far, we have. And," he said, with a pause. "I think you will find more luck attracting others to the cause if I was not there by your side." It was the truth, though, of course, he was loath to say it.
The concern he left unsaid, though, was the direst of the lot. Above all else, he did not want to risk Valentin's life. This endeavor was dangerous. Of course, they both knew the risks—and had taken them knowingly and willingly—but some stakes were too high for his liking. Sooner or later, one of them—Alexander or Valentin—would be forced to face the fire.
Alexander would rather have it be him.
Then, he cut through it. Alexander, like his namesake, took a blade to the verbal Gordian knot.
"I think we should go our separate ways for now."
Ten words summarized all his thoughts, all his fears. His manner of speaking was blunt, like a mace, but had no sharp edges of malice. His eyes, usually cool as ice, were uncertain and shook slightly, a melting glacier in a boiling sea. It was clear, despite it all, that he meant this as something for the best—and that it did not come easy to him.
"We've spent a lot of time and have accomplished less than we should have. I think it would be prudent for the two of us to cover more ground than, thus far, we have. And," he said, with a pause. "I think you will find more luck attracting others to the cause if I was not there by your side." It was the truth, though, of course, he was loath to say it.
The concern he left unsaid, though, was the direst of the lot. Above all else, he did not want to risk Valentin's life. This endeavor was dangerous. Of course, they both knew the risks—and had taken them knowingly and willingly—but some stakes were too high for his liking. Sooner or later, one of them—Alexander or Valentin—would be forced to face the fire.
Alexander would rather have it be him.
Valentin had been expecting this. It did not hurt any less, the same way seeing an oncoming car did not lessen the destruction it would cause you mere seconds later.
He knew there was no anger behind the decision because there was a complete absence of conviction in Alexander's look, in his tone. Words that had to be said, rather than wanted to be said.
And that was worse, somehow.
Alexander came to the same conclusion Valentin had come to shortly after driving away Eden and the girl, and yet this brought Valentin no satisfaction. It felt like more of a personal failing, in that Valentin had failed to put in enough initiative on his end for any plan of theirs to come to fruition. If only he had tried more, if only he had forced Eden and the girl to stay, if only he had listened to Alexander and left the snow-covered body behind, if only, if only, if only.
He wasn't sure where exactly he had gone wrong, only that he had failed somewhere, because otherwise it would not have come to this.
There was no fighting it however. Alexander was right. Every two hours or so was a life extinguished, and at this point, they had to make the most efficient use of their time possible.
Valentin did not immediately answer Alexander. Instead, he pulled his bag towards himself, opened the zipper, dug around the contents a bit, and pulled out a map.
He jabbed a finger at the cluster of squares on the southeast side.
"Research station, two announcements from now. You must show up by then, this is non-negotiable."
He looked Alexander in the eyes.
He knew there was no anger behind the decision because there was a complete absence of conviction in Alexander's look, in his tone. Words that had to be said, rather than wanted to be said.
And that was worse, somehow.
Alexander came to the same conclusion Valentin had come to shortly after driving away Eden and the girl, and yet this brought Valentin no satisfaction. It felt like more of a personal failing, in that Valentin had failed to put in enough initiative on his end for any plan of theirs to come to fruition. If only he had tried more, if only he had forced Eden and the girl to stay, if only he had listened to Alexander and left the snow-covered body behind, if only, if only, if only.
He wasn't sure where exactly he had gone wrong, only that he had failed somewhere, because otherwise it would not have come to this.
There was no fighting it however. Alexander was right. Every two hours or so was a life extinguished, and at this point, they had to make the most efficient use of their time possible.
Valentin did not immediately answer Alexander. Instead, he pulled his bag towards himself, opened the zipper, dug around the contents a bit, and pulled out a map.
He jabbed a finger at the cluster of squares on the southeast side.
"Research station, two announcements from now. You must show up by then, this is non-negotiable."
He looked Alexander in the eyes.
Alexander had given his opinion. Valentin had given him a deadline.
He stared back at the other boy. Their eyes met for the first time since their last argument—gazes locked, swords drawn and crossed. He then looked down at the map, its contours, the little squares that represented buildings, and at the place where their next meeting—if one was to happen at all—would be. He nodded.
"I agree to your terms," he said, with grim finality, a verbal signature to their contract. He swallowed back the uncertainty and the bile. "In the meantime, I plan to go to the beach." It seemed almost silly to frame the idea like that as if it was just a day of relaxation. But the two of them both knew better than to think that.
On the prior announcements, there was one name that had struck him. It was a hunch, of course—the information was vague about details and broadly untrustworthy—but something told him that he was right. If his theories proved correct, there might be something—anything—he could salvage from it. That alone would be worth it.
"What about you?"
He stared back at the other boy. Their eyes met for the first time since their last argument—gazes locked, swords drawn and crossed. He then looked down at the map, its contours, the little squares that represented buildings, and at the place where their next meeting—if one was to happen at all—would be. He nodded.
"I agree to your terms," he said, with grim finality, a verbal signature to their contract. He swallowed back the uncertainty and the bile. "In the meantime, I plan to go to the beach." It seemed almost silly to frame the idea like that as if it was just a day of relaxation. But the two of them both knew better than to think that.
On the prior announcements, there was one name that had struck him. It was a hunch, of course—the information was vague about details and broadly untrustworthy—but something told him that he was right. If his theories proved correct, there might be something—anything—he could salvage from it. That alone would be worth it.
"What about you?"
"Wherever there's people. The town, perhaps. We have a few friends to meet, after all."
There was a degree of ambiguity in Valentin's answer partly to obscure his intentions from the terrorists, and partly because he himself was not completely sure as to what to do next. He was just as clueless now as he was then, only now there were almost a couple dozen of their classmates they couldn't save. All he was betting on was that if they had a larger group to work with, then maybe they could come up with better ideas, maybe the chances of them finding their magic solution would increase. Maybe, maybe, maybe. So that's how he would approach the next two days.
And that was that. Nothing more to say, their courses set. And in two days, they would maybe, hopefully see each other again.
Hopefully.
Suddenly, he pulled Alexander into an embrace.
There was a degree of ambiguity in Valentin's answer partly to obscure his intentions from the terrorists, and partly because he himself was not completely sure as to what to do next. He was just as clueless now as he was then, only now there were almost a couple dozen of their classmates they couldn't save. All he was betting on was that if they had a larger group to work with, then maybe they could come up with better ideas, maybe the chances of them finding their magic solution would increase. Maybe, maybe, maybe. So that's how he would approach the next two days.
And that was that. Nothing more to say, their courses set. And in two days, they would maybe, hopefully see each other again.
Hopefully.
Suddenly, he pulled Alexander into an embrace.
Alexander had accounted for a multitude of reactions. Those were the considerations one had to make in advance—preparations for the inevitable. Anger, like had been shown prior; sorrow at the end of their time together; or, perhaps, the fatal, final acceptance that their paths had diverged from each other.
This reaction—a display of open affection—was not something he had expected.
For someone like Alexander, physical touch was not a custom. Other people were something to keep at arm's length—even friends, even family. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt more than the cursory brush of skin against skin. Here, though, at this moment, he did not recoil or push against Valentin.
Instead, he fell into the other boy's arms and brooked the contact. To his nerves, it felt consummately alien.
For a moment, there was a pang of fear in his heart, swirled with something far worse: a sense of hope. Like a ray of light through the storm clouds, all the darkness and all the sorrow faded away for the moment. But he did not rebuke it yet. For a moment, he clung to it, as he clung to Valentin, as Valentin clung to him.
Alexander was not lost in it, though. He still knew that, as like as not, this could be the last time the two of them would meet. After all, sunlight only lasted until the night fell. And, when the time came, darkness would rule this island again. But, vainly, he hoped against hope that it wouldn't, that the sun would never set.
An impossibility, perhaps, but one that he felt was more comfortable than the reality of the situation.
Eventually, though, all good things came to an end. Just as the sun had to fall into the horizon and the moon had to rise above, as the day had to pass into the night, the two of them had to, inevitably, separate from one another. Their small, inconsequential moment of peace and harmony was lost—but not, perhaps, forever.
Alexander looked at Valentin, words caught in his trachea. But, he knew, none were needed: enough said, enough done. The only thing left to do was move forward. So, with only another glance at his erstwhile companion, he stowed his bag, heaved it over his shoulder, and hurtled towards something he couldn't see before:
A better tomorrow.
S061: ALEXANDER HAWTHORNE — CONTINUED IN "A Matter of Faith"
This reaction—a display of open affection—was not something he had expected.
For someone like Alexander, physical touch was not a custom. Other people were something to keep at arm's length—even friends, even family. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt more than the cursory brush of skin against skin. Here, though, at this moment, he did not recoil or push against Valentin.
Instead, he fell into the other boy's arms and brooked the contact. To his nerves, it felt consummately alien.
For a moment, there was a pang of fear in his heart, swirled with something far worse: a sense of hope. Like a ray of light through the storm clouds, all the darkness and all the sorrow faded away for the moment. But he did not rebuke it yet. For a moment, he clung to it, as he clung to Valentin, as Valentin clung to him.
Alexander was not lost in it, though. He still knew that, as like as not, this could be the last time the two of them would meet. After all, sunlight only lasted until the night fell. And, when the time came, darkness would rule this island again. But, vainly, he hoped against hope that it wouldn't, that the sun would never set.
An impossibility, perhaps, but one that he felt was more comfortable than the reality of the situation.
Eventually, though, all good things came to an end. Just as the sun had to fall into the horizon and the moon had to rise above, as the day had to pass into the night, the two of them had to, inevitably, separate from one another. Their small, inconsequential moment of peace and harmony was lost—but not, perhaps, forever.
Alexander looked at Valentin, words caught in his trachea. But, he knew, none were needed: enough said, enough done. The only thing left to do was move forward. So, with only another glance at his erstwhile companion, he stowed his bag, heaved it over his shoulder, and hurtled towards something he couldn't see before:
A better tomorrow.
S061: ALEXANDER HAWTHORNE — CONTINUED IN "A Matter of Faith"
For a number of reasons, Valentin lingered a minute or so after Alexander left.
He was making sure Alexander had well and truly left. That he was well and truly gone.
He was making sure there were no more words to be shared between them, that Alexander wouldn't double back with some important reminder or something.
He was making sure the moment was really, truly over.
Alexander's departure shook him, not dissimilar to elemantary school mornings, when his father would yank the blanket off him to wake him up: a jarring, abrupt transition from warm coziness to an unforgiving cold.
After a minute or so, he stood up, and began gathering his things into his bag, preparing for the travails that would follow.
When his things were fully assembled, he made his way to the precipice of the room before stopping.
He gazed upon his and Alexander's work, placed just outside the door.
He remembered now. Constance was her name. French, liked taking photographs, friendly enough to be on a name-to-name basis with him, not friendly enough for him and her to make contact with each other after graduation probably. Those were his cliff notes on her.
She, in a way, was part of the reason for their separation. Every further moment Valentin and Alexander spent together was a moment another one of their classmates ended up like her, ended like her.
Valentin had never been spiritual, much to his grandfather's consternation. Maybe now was the time to try. He would need all the help he could get, yeah?
His grandfather's prayers were in Russian, usually, structured, lilting in sound. But the words came not to him, and he believed it probably disrespectful to half-bake his efforts here. He would pray in a free-form manner, and hope it sufficed for the Lord.
And so he bowed his head, clasped his hands, and internally, he begged:
O Almighty God and Father,
Please lay Constance's soul to rest, and let her find the peace which she has been so unjustly deprived on here on this earth. Please lay her soul, and the souls of all the others who have been beaten, and starved, and frozen, and let them remember not their pain.
And Almighty God and Father, please help me find a way out of this forsaken island. Please help me find like-minded individuals who also seek a way out, so that we may find salvation, so that this suffering may not prolong. Please help provide the guidance and wisdom necessary for us to be good people, for us to be people to ourselves, to one another, and to you God. Please God.
And Almighty God and Father,
Almighty God and Father,
Please let me meet Alexander again.
Amen.
He made a sign of the cross, lingered a few seconds longer, and then he left.
((Valentin Shulgin continues elsewhere))
He was making sure Alexander had well and truly left. That he was well and truly gone.
He was making sure there were no more words to be shared between them, that Alexander wouldn't double back with some important reminder or something.
He was making sure the moment was really, truly over.
Alexander's departure shook him, not dissimilar to elemantary school mornings, when his father would yank the blanket off him to wake him up: a jarring, abrupt transition from warm coziness to an unforgiving cold.
After a minute or so, he stood up, and began gathering his things into his bag, preparing for the travails that would follow.
When his things were fully assembled, he made his way to the precipice of the room before stopping.
He gazed upon his and Alexander's work, placed just outside the door.
He remembered now. Constance was her name. French, liked taking photographs, friendly enough to be on a name-to-name basis with him, not friendly enough for him and her to make contact with each other after graduation probably. Those were his cliff notes on her.
She, in a way, was part of the reason for their separation. Every further moment Valentin and Alexander spent together was a moment another one of their classmates ended up like her, ended like her.
Valentin had never been spiritual, much to his grandfather's consternation. Maybe now was the time to try. He would need all the help he could get, yeah?
His grandfather's prayers were in Russian, usually, structured, lilting in sound. But the words came not to him, and he believed it probably disrespectful to half-bake his efforts here. He would pray in a free-form manner, and hope it sufficed for the Lord.
And so he bowed his head, clasped his hands, and internally, he begged:
O Almighty God and Father,
Please lay Constance's soul to rest, and let her find the peace which she has been so unjustly deprived on here on this earth. Please lay her soul, and the souls of all the others who have been beaten, and starved, and frozen, and let them remember not their pain.
And Almighty God and Father, please help me find a way out of this forsaken island. Please help me find like-minded individuals who also seek a way out, so that we may find salvation, so that this suffering may not prolong. Please help provide the guidance and wisdom necessary for us to be good people, for us to be people to ourselves, to one another, and to you God. Please God.
And Almighty God and Father,
Almighty God and Father,
Please let me meet Alexander again.
Amen.
He made a sign of the cross, lingered a few seconds longer, and then he left.
((Valentin Shulgin continues elsewhere))