Faith
Scandinavian government refugee camp, Tingvalla - December 21
Tingvalla was a small town in the center of Scandinavia, situated on the delta where the Klaräven River ran into Lake Vänern. A former Viking-era political center and marketplace, its distance from the Stockholm and Oslo metropolitan areas made it a prime vacation spot for people looking for a getaway to the countryside. At least until the war broke out. With the gassing and firebombing of every major Scandinavian city, thousands fled inland to Tingvalla, which hadn’t been touched by the Crusader offensive. The Scandinavian government had set up a refugee camp here for all those city dwellers who had to leave their homes, but as Stockholm remained almost completely uninhabitable, it had effectively become a provisional capital as well. At first, the refugees were settled in shelters formerly used for homeless people and immigrants from the Eimericas. After those were filled up and more arrived, some Tingvalla inhabitants offered to house the newcomers in their homes; the town claimed to be the sunniest town in Scandinavia, both in terms of kindness and literal sunlight. However, both of those soon ran out as the skies remained shrouded by orange-gray clouds and the townspeople’s homes reached full capacity, yet still more refugees came. In the end, the government hastily constructed a tent city on the shores of Lake Vänern.
On the morning of the winter solstice, Clara walked through the “streets” of the Tingvalla tent city. She kept her head down and her hands in her pockets, one hand closed around a pocketknife and the other around a rations card. Kroners were next to useless these days, forcing the desperate refugees to resort to bartering for things they couldn’t get through rations. If they couldn’t barter for it, they simply took it by force. The collapse of Scandinavian society had forced them all to turn into rats, scavenging for scraps. Or maybe vultures would be more appropriate. No, those were the ones who caused the collapse. The rats were the ones trying to survive amid the ruins.
I did not survive Berlin, Bremerhaven, and Heligoland just to end up right where I started.
A ragged man sat outside his tent. He had a long and unkempt beard. He wore the remains of a business suit—probably a banker from Stockholm. His hair was frayed and weirdly colored. His face was horrifically scarred disfigured by chemical burns, as were his arms. One of his shaking hands held out a cup.
“
God morgon,
fröken,” he said, “Can you…”
Clara’s hearing aid glitched out, so she couldn’t hear the rest of what he said. She tapped a couple times to fix it. At least until the next time it broke.
“Can you spare some change today?” he repeated.
“I’m sorry,” Clara said, “I still don’t have money.”
Spent the last of my pocket change on a lamp and blankets for Oliver.
The banker coughed and clutched his stomach.
“Are you okay, sir?”
He held up a hand. “I’m fine,
fröken. Nothing major.”
“You should see a doctor.”
“You think I haven’t already? They’re all dead. Or busy. Or charge an arm and a leg. But don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. You still don’t have money? Focus on yourself first.”
“But didn’t you just ask—”
“I’ve seen you with your family these last couple days. After reflecting a little, I think you should worry about them more than this good old banker who has run out of money. Just go get your rations.”
“I can’t just leave you like this,” Clara said.
“
Det är ingen ko på isen, fröken!” He waved furiously and dismissively. “Just go!”
Grr…fine. Have it your way.
Clara continued walking down the road, eventually reaching a blue tent marked with the UN insignia. Two peacekeepers stood watch at the entrance. She showed her ration card to the peacekeepers, who let her inside. It was early in the morning, but the breakfast queue was already long.
Usually you’d only see a line this long and early at a sale on Black Tuesday, after Erntedankfest. After all of the festivities wrapped up on Monday, everyone would go home the next day to start their holiday week. Stores would put out really good sales that week, and people would crowd outside the door late Monday night to be first in the next morning. Now, instead of lining up for TVs and shoes, we’re lining up for smörgås
and knäckebröd
. Not even any coffee; if they could barely import coffee beans from the Eimericas and Abyssinia before the gas attacks, it’s completely impossible now. I read Scandinavians are some of the most avid coffee drinkers in the world. This country’s already at the breaking point. I shudder to imagine what would happen once everyone here realizes we’re all out of coffee for at least another few years.
“Bored, huh?” Clara turned to face the old woman who had addressed her. From her clothes—which looked like they came out of the 80s or 90s—and the colorful shawl covering her blond and white hair, she looked Russian.
“Yeah, tell me about it,” Clara said.
“I see you always come here at this time. Always in a hurry. You have a family?”
“A wife and son,” Clara said, “You?”
The woman looked away. “I had a sister, once. A daughter, too. They’re both gone now.”
So she’s lost people too. I don’t know who has it worse: kids who lose their parents, or parents who lose their kids.
“I’m…I’m so sorry,” Clara said, “Do you have any other family?”
“My husband died several years ago. Lucky him, dying before everything went to
helvete. My son Valentin…I don’t know where he is now.”
“I hope he’s okay.”
The old woman smiled. “Thanks, dear.”
Clara thought for a moment. “I don’t think I got your name. What was it?”
“You can just call me Irina,” Irina said.
“Nice to meet you, Irina. I’m Clara.”
“Clara…a nice name. I’d shake your hand, but…”. She gestured to the sling holding her right arm. “That accent of yours…you from the Reich?”
“Yeah. Berlin. Wife was from Kiel.”
Irina looked down. “I’m so sorry. It must have been so difficult, getting out.”
“It was,” Clara said.
“As my accent probably told you, I came from Russia after the last war, my sister and I. While the circumstances of our leaving Russia are hard to explain right now, we effectively had nothing but the clothes on our backs. Like Sbyslava fleeing across the Baltic 120 years ago. I settled in Stockholm with an aunt who got there before us, and my sister went to Frankfurt, then Constantinople, then Berlin, then back to Russia.”
“What happened to her?”
Irina hesitated for a moment, looking down. Her face suddenly grew sullen. “She died in Tsarberg. I begged her to leave before the fighting reached it, but she refused. Said she wanted to save as many people as she wanted. My sister was always a stubborn one.”
Clara moved forward in line. “I guess she got what she wanted in the end.”
Irina moved up. “You could say that.”
“I won’t forget what she did for us, then.”
Irina gave her a weird look.
“What, did I say something wrong?” Clara said.
Irina shook her head. “No, it’s fine. I just…didn’t expect those words to come from your mouth.”
They reached the head of the line. A UN aid worker handed Clara a paper plate with an open sandwich, a
smörgås. In between the buttered
knäckebröd, or crisp bread, laid a mix of ham, cheese, tomatoes, and cucumber.
“Excuse me, young man, do you have any milk?” Irina said.
That man looks 45, though.
“Sorry, ma’am, we ran out yesterday.”
Irina sighed. “Do you know how vital calcium is to your bones, especially when you’re my age?”
“Ma’am, I don’t control the schedule.”
“Yes, I know, but I’m just frustrated—”
“We all are,” Clara interrupted, “It’s okay, Irina. Hopefully things get better soo.”
Irina nodded. “I get it. My apologies, young man.”
Guy has a full beard like my uncle!
“Hey, would you mind putting her food in a bag?” Clara asked. “Because, you know…”
The aid worker held up a brown bag. “Do it every day she’s here, lady.”
“Irina, you mind if I carry it for you?”
Irina smiled. “I’d love that.”
They left the UN tent and headed back down the dirt path. Clara struggled to hold onto her own plate as well as Irina’s bag. The uneven path, strewn with pebbles, pitfalls, and puddles, made things a little more difficult.
“Are you sure you can do that?” Irina said. “You know I still have my other hand.”
“No, I can do it,” Clara said, “Where’s your place, by the way?”
Irina pointed down the path and motioned to the right. “Oh, it’s a couple intersections down, turn right, third tent on the right. Can’t miss it.”
“I mean your old place, from before.”
“Oh. I had a house in the Stockholm suburbs. It was my aunt’s for decades. Raised my kids there.” Irina smiled, as if remembering fond memories.
“I had a place in Berlin, eight years ago,” Clara said, “Sylvia and I bought it soon after we married. Chose it for the good school nearby we wanted to send our kid to. Next to a bus stop with a convenient line into downtown, got me to the Athanatoi headquarters without any transfers.”
“You worked at the Athanatoi?”
“Yeah, for a time. On something called the X-Division.”
Irina slightly raised an eyebrow. “The X-Division?”
“Yeah, what about it?”
Irina shook her head. “No, it’s nothing. Maybe I’ll ask later.”
“Bloody Tuesday happened, and that place no longer became safe for us. So we sold it, and Sylvia used the money to go buy a place in Oslo, near her parents.”
“I suppose that didn’t work out as well?”
“Yeah, obviously. Though it wasn’t as easy as I just explained. Had to go through a little place called Bremerhaven just to get to Oslo. Was stuck there for a few years.”
“That must have been rough.”
Clara sighed. “Tell me about it.”
“I know what it’s like to be stuck in a warzone. I was stuck in Prague in 1972. I was only a toddler at the time. Lost my parents during the Soviet crackdown.”
“But it all worked out, didn’t it?”
“As you would say, it wasn’t as easy as I just explained.”
“Fair enough.”
They came across the penniless banker again. He still sat where he did, but he was no longer holding his cup. “Ah, hello again. I see you got breakfast.”
“You should get some too,” Clara said.
“Maybe once my legs stop aching.”
“Are you okay, young man?” Irina said.
“Old lady, I’m fine. My body just aches sometimes.”
“You very clearly have burn scars,” Irina said, “Those don’t look superficial either.”
“Thanks for stating the obvious, Grandma.”
“I don’t even have grandchildren yet. Valentin’s got no kids and Tania’s dead.”
“Okay, I really think you need to see a doctor, sir,” Clara said.
“Did you really forget what I said just half an hour ago?” the banker said. “There’s nobody around to help me.”
“Actually, there may be someone,” Irina said.
The banker looked surprised. “Who?”
---
They now found themselves in front of a dark blue tent marked with a six-petaled rose inside a circle, one of the symbols of the Slavic religion. As Clara was still carrying both her and Irina’s breakfasts, Irina used her free hand to help the banker walk with them.
“Okay, let me get this straight,” the banker said, “Your idea of a doctor is…a priest?”
“There may be more to it thank you think,” Irina said.
The banker threw up his scarred hands as much as he could. “Listen, old lady, I’m in the business of making money, not seeking answers to life’s greatest mysteries. I know faith is a great way to move forward in a broken world, but last I heard, priests aren’t surgeons.”
“Why’d you bring us to the Temple of Veles?” Clara said.
“I know the volkhv here,” Irina said, “A traveling priest who was based in southern Russia before and made his way here. He’s very good at his work.”
“I’m not so sure about this.”
“Come on, Clara, have a little faith.”
Clara shook her head. “That might be harder than you think.”
“Why’s that?”
Clara’s fists instinctively clenched up, her mind racing with memories of the last 8 years. Her blood began boiling.
“How can I have faith after what the committee did? My family were practicing Christians before. We went to church every Sunday at 8. Said the Lord’s Prayer before each meal. Tried to live by Christ’s example. The committee came and said we were heretics and sinners. They twisted Christianity into a horrible monstrosity and said anyone who wasn’t with them was against God, then murdered them. Said I was damned to hell because I married not only a woman but a Vanatruar, then tried to make my life into a living hell. I haven’t been able to pray since Bremerhaven. I tried to go to church. But the instant I even see the inside of a church, I start seeing the committee. Seeing the Shepherds of the Future. Remembering the suffering they brought to Bremerhaven while I was there. Hearing the bombs and gunfire that made me have to wear this stupid broken hearing aid. Seeing the nuke obliterate Bremerhaven even though my eyes were closed. Knowing then and there that my remaining friends were most certainly dead. Hearing the damned tyrant—curses be on his name for all eternity, and I will not dignify him with his name or the title of Kaiser—nullify the Augustinian code bit by bit. Hearing that airport security agent stop me from getting on that plane with Sylvia and Oliver, separating us for years and trapping me in a totalitarian dictatorship that wanted me dead. Remembering the smugness dripping from his mouth. Where was God when all this happened? If God is all-knowing and all-seing and all-loving, then why the absolute hell did he let someone as horrible as the committee come to power and do all this?!”
Irina stood there, quietly listening even as Clara’s voice reached a fever pitch. When Clara finished, she merely nodded.
“I’m sorry you feel that way. You know, I was like that as a kid. I was not more than a teenager when I left the CSSR and found freedom in Scandinavia. Not much older when the war ended and Russia changed beyond recognition. Those early years were tough. I was raised in the waning years of the Soviet regime, and the Party was all I knew. But thanks to my sister’s efforts, that changed. In Scandinavia, I rediscovered the gods. Or rather, they had always been with me, but I hadn’t noticed them until then. These gods aren’t omnipotent or omniscient like your God, which I think made it easier for me to accept their absence from our lives. How do I reconcile the gods with the brutalities the Soviet regime committed? With the fact that they never once lifted a finger against Varennikov or any of the other Party leaders? Well, my belief is the gods would rather let us keep our free will. Make these mistakes so we learn from them and move forward. Instead of having them solve our problems for us. And it worked out in the end. The Soviets fell. As was foreseen by the gods, probably. Just trust your God believes in your ability to solve your own problems. That He doesn’t have to save you yet when you can still save yourself. The day of our death may be determined by the Rozhanitsy, but everything before then is in our hands. It’s our job to live our own lives.”
“That’s a nice speech and all, but we’ve been standing in front of this temple for five minutes, and I’m not sure if we should go in or go back,” the banker said, “Can we go back?”
“Alright, alright, let’s go in,” Irina said.
“
Jävlar!”
They went inside. Compared to the UN food tent, the temple tent was quiet and subdued. Candles were placed on the floor, and Clara smelled incense in the air. A plastic table had been set up, on which were placed two books: the
Volkhovnik—a book of divination—and the Book of Rod. The man sitting at the table looked youg; his dark blue priestly robes looked a little too big on him, but the rest of his proportions made it seem like he was a man in his forties or fifties. He wore a necklace with the same six-petaled rose in circle symbol, much in the same way Clara would have worn a crucifix necklace before. He had a small face and no beard, almost like a man in his twenties.
He spoke calmly and warmly, in a dignified manner. “
Privyet, and
dobroye utro. What brings you here today?”
“Hello, Joey, it’s me again,” Irina casually replied, “We need your help with this guy.”
Joey sighed, and he quickly dropped his dignified demeanor. “Come on, Irina, another one? You know I can’t keep this up.”
“You can fit one more person into your busy schedule.”
“If word gets out…”
“Word won’t get out. It didn’t get out before, and it didn’t get out after. I didn’t tell anyone about my arm, nobody else would tell either.”
“Your…arm?” Clara said.
“Why do I have a bad feeling about this?” the banker said.
“Just trust me,” Irina said, “All will be explained. Just keep it to yourself when it is.”
Joey sighed. “Alright, alright, fine. You owe me another one, Irina.”
“I’m going to consider it part of the favor I already owe you. Still working on the property deeds. By the way, housing prices have
really gone down lately, especially on the Norwegian coast, which sucks because the economy is absolutely broken and nobody can take advantage of this, including myself—”
“Irina.” Clara folded her arms.
Irina stopped. “Fine, I’ll wait until later.”
“Come over here,” Joey beckoned.
The banker sat at the table. “So, uh…what do I do?”
“Nothing,” Joey said, “Just close your eyes and relax.”
The banker did so. Joey raised his hands and chanted something in archaic Russian.
“The chant’s actually useless,” Irina whispered, “He’s just saying ‘I am speaking random words which mean nothing but everyone still believes it’.”
“Why are you telling me this now?!” Clara whispered back.
Irina shrugged. “I thought you should know.”
“So what was the whole point of coming here?”
“You’ll see.”
“Merciful Veles, please look upon this poor soul and consult with the Rozhanitsy,” Joey said in modern Russian, “Let it be known this man still has much to live for, and he desires the freedom to live a longer life as he sees fit. My Father who lives under the earth, grant this man your blessing!”
He looked at the banker. “Okay, that’s it. We’re done.”
“Wait, that’s it?” the banker said.
“Yeah, what else did you expect?”
“That was barely a minute.”
“Well, I’m on a tight schedule, and so is Veles,” Joey said.
“So what do I do now?”
“Wait.”
“For how long?” The banker looked impatient.
Joey checked his watch. “About…a minute or so.”
“What did you do?” Clara said.
“Oh, just sent a prayer down to Veles. He’s normally chill with prayers. Pretty helpful these days, which is ironic given his personal situation.”
“Don’t think about packing up again,” Irina said.
“Hey, just because I was a wandering nomad for the last 20 years doesn’t mean I’m going to bail on Tingvalla like that!”
The banker looked at his hands and gasped.
“Wait…impossible!”
“What is?” Clara said.
She looked at the banker’s arms and also gasped. All of his wounds were gone. His face was no longer scarred. And presumably the rest of his body got the same treatment.
“I’m…fully healed…this has got to be a dream…” He felt his face and ran his hands up his arms.
“If this is a dream, then I’m having the same one,” Clara said, “What just happened?”
“Veles answered my prayer,” Joey said.
Irina snickered and rolled her eyes.
“V-Veles?” The banker's eyes widened. “You mean…he did this?”
Joey smiled. “Yeah, totally. You’re all good to go. Just make sure not to…be too vocal about it. I’m not a big fan of black ops groups descending on our little camp to abduct me for some experiments.”
“WOOHOO!” The banker shot out of his seat and punched the air with vigor. “YEAH! I haven’t felt this strong in months! It’s like I’m a whole new man! Thanks, Veles, you’re the best! I’ll make sure to go to temple every week now! And you said you need help with real estate? Guess what bankers can help with! Suck on it, health insurance!”
He ran out of the tent.
“They always act like this,” Joey said.
“He didn’t even get our numbers,” Irina said, “How’s he going to help the project if he can’t contact us?”
“Eh, you can find him later.”
“Uh…mind explaining what the frak I just saw?” Clara said.
“Well, it’s a long story that might involve X-Division, so I’ll explain it later and give you the short answer now,” Irina said.
“And that is?”
“Faith, Clara. The gods are always there, always watching. They hold free will as their highest principle. So when death threatens to take that free will away far before its time—even if the guy was just scarred—then they will ask the Rozhanitsy to reconsider. To give more time. More time to shape your life. All you need is faith. Not only faith in the gods, but also faith in yourself.”
Joey walked over and tapped Irina’s broken arm. “If that’s the short answer, I don’t want to be around for the long one.”
“What did you do?”
“Favor for your other arm. That one’s on the house, after I saw this lady here carrying your food. You really get around with just one arm these days? Wonder how you got around with both arms broken.”
“
Both arms?!” Clara was incredulous. “How?!”
“As I said, have faith, Clara.” Irina smiled again.
