The Shadow of Hope

By Luiza Dobrzyńska

 

The action of The Shadow of Hope takes place partly in Ukraine and partly in Poland, several decades after the great European conflict. It almost completely destroyed the infrastructure of great states and brought the living standards of the surviving people back to the 19th century, if not worse. The main characters are Xenia, a girl raised by a worker in factory workshops, her foster brother Kola, a fugitive from a secret experimental laboratory, and Urunde, a crippled war veteran. They live in Smorodów, a small settlement next to a military garrison, and together with other inhabitants they fight to survive in a ruined world.

 

When Colonel Demianiuk, the garrison commander, decides to send a secret mission to Poland, the team consists of Urunde, Xenia and Kola. Their mission is to transport to a hostile country samples taken from people dying of an unknown disease, and the notes of a garrison doctor. There are legends about the well-equipped research institute in Poland and the knowledge of Demianiuk only there can they develop an effective medicine.  

 

The novel is the first volume of the planned series, entitled The Earth God's Forgotten.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Royal Hawaiian Press
• Release date: Aug 27, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201992880

Book preview

The Shadow of Hope

Luiza Dobrzyńska

All material contained herein is

Copyright © Luiza Dobrzynska 2021 All rights reserved.

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Translated and published in English with permission.

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Paperback ISBN: 978-1-7377737-4-0

ePub ISBN: 979-8-2019928-8-0

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Written by Luiza Dobrzynska

Published by Royal Hawaiian Press

Cover art by Tyrone Roshantha

Translated by Wieslawa Menthen

Publishing Assistance: Dorota Reszke

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For more works by this author, please visit:

www.royalhawaiianpress.com

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Version Number 1.001c

I am a soldier. Which is why I’m not going to take any fucking heroes with me, Corporal Urunde said when asked why the heck he was dragging this ball and chain with him, the worst loser in the neighborhood. I prefer a coward who knows he’s a coward.

And he could not be reasoned with. He was stubborn. Once he made up his mind, nothing could dissuade him from his decision.

This is why Kola was now standing at the half-collapsed entrance to the tunnel going deeper into the massif called Roztocze. If anyone saw him here, they would probably wonder what a lonely kid in a military camouflage was doing in such a remote area, but there was no worry that someone would come across. There was nothing left within many hundreds of miles - or at least nothing of use to humans. Wild fields. This is what this part of the world was called after the war. Nobody remembered that there had been a territory with such name before, it was too long ago. History had died and with it, the old names.

Kola sniffed his red runny nose, and looked anxiously at the darkening sky. He gripped his only weapon, the old machete, tighter in his hand. The night was coming inevitably, a time when all things hungry and dangerous emerged from their lairs, and he was still standing there, waiting for his companions to return. He would have felt more comfortable sitting in the rover, but it was left about a kilometer away, hidden in a clump of dead bushes. Urunde decided so. And you didn’t argue with him.

He was scared. He did not know what could live here, and his imagination sent him terrifying images. Looking around nervously, he jumped up with fear at every rustle, and there were plenty of those around. When it was almost black already, he squeezed into the narrow passage with the courage of despair. He didn’t know what was inside, but Xenia and the corporal had entered there, so he could too. It couldn’t be worse there than the outside after a night fell.

Inside, it smelled musty and of something vague, like stale grease and mineral oil. And rusting iron. The boy took one of the torches he had prepared at home from his backpack, rubbed a phosphor match on the sole of his shoe and after a while, the darkness was brightened by a yellowish flame. Kola looked around. The arched ceiling above him was covered with mold and fungus, and he could see a pile of twisted iron deeper inside. Further sections of the tunnel were immersed in impenetrable darkness.

What are they doing there? he muttered, looking in a senseless reflex at his left wrist, decorated with a wooden shadow watch. If only he had a real, mechanical one, like Urunde and other soldiers, he wouldn’t need the sun to tell the time. Well, he knew without it that his companions had been gone for a long time. Much longer than agreed.

Something shuffled behind the pile of discarded scrap metal. The boy quickly stuck the torch into the ground and turned, lifting the machete. A hard blow knocked it out of his hand. He did not have time to protect himself from the next blow, indeed - he did not even see where it came from. Spots of color swirled in front of his eyes, then darkness fell.

*****

Give it back!

The girl tugged the fruit angrily. She was no more than thirteen, and would have been quite pretty were it not for the scar on the left side of her face that ran from her forehead to the corner of her jaw, and her shaved head. The flat cap, pushed down all the way to her eyes, was not able to hide it. The hair loss was certainly not the result of some debilitating disease, because energy and strength radiated from this prematurely grown child.

Dirty like a pig, the emaciated boy was younger than she was, and much thinner, but very determined. He did not want to let go of the apple from his desperately clenched fingers. For a moment they wrestled without saying a word, then the girl kicked her little opponent in the stomach with her knee.

I told you, give it back!

Ouch! I’m hungry!

And I am stronger and when I give you a beating, you...

She raised her clenched fist as an illustration. The boy shielded his face with his elbow, still clenching his tiny, dirty, scratched hand on the apple. Apparently, the hunger was stronger than fear. They struggled again, focused on the subject of their dispute so that they did not notice who was coming.

Let go of him, Xenia, the high voice was commanding and sharp. The girl hesitated, startled and confused, but not defeated yet. She looked back.

Let go, I said.

A worker of undefined age, who had come out of nowhere, stopped next to the two children. She was tall, thin and wiry, with knotty muscles under a washed denim blouse with the symbols of a military workplace. Her head was still covered with a tightly tied scarf, she must have just left the factory. You can see he really hasn’t had anything in his mouth for a long time.

But, mom! The girl finally let go of the fruit and the boy hastily stuck his small teeth into it. He still had his baby teeth, they shone like pearls in his dirty face. I found it...!

The woman reached out and grasped her daughter’s ear, making her squeal.

How many times have I told you that if we lose our humanity, we will become no better than animals? she asked calmly and dryly. No catastrophe can justify such behavior, she looked at the boy who was hurryingly choking on the apple. Where are your parents?

Dad supposedly died, he muttered indistinctly, and my mom fell asleep two days ago and I can’t wake her up. I went out looking for something to eat because I couldn’t stand the hunger anymore. My stomach hurt.

The worker nodded and let go of the girl’s ear.

Where do you live? The boy pointed with his hand. Show us the way. We’ll see what’s wrong with your mom. Xenia, you come back home and prepare a soup. Make a bit more than usual.

The little one snorted contemptuously, but obeyed. She lifted her basket from the ground, glared at the boy unfriendly again and walked away towards the hill, visibly sulking.

The hill was not a natural formation, but a huge mountain of rubble and rubbish covered with sparse turf. The entire area behind it was also littered with debris, mostly industrial. The organic waste had decomposed over the years, so the smell was less terrible than you would expect from a sight like this. Further on, on the horizon, there was what had once been a great metropolis, only ten years ago, but now it was a sort of abstract jungle of shattered reinforced concrete, fantastically bent metal reinforcements, and molten glass.

To the side was the Stronghold - a complex of factories surrounding the military barracks, protected by a wall entwined with barbed wire. A cluster of sloppily built hovels clung to this wall as if seeking its protection. The nearby forest obscured the entire horizon, reaching almost to the ruins of the city, nameless today, which once swarmed with life. It was now a pile of half-melted remains, often impossible to identify.

The hut under the hill was built of materials the builder probably had at hand: sheets of metal, battered pieces of concrete, and even panels of thick glass, whose original purpose no one remembered. Someone patiently put together the mismatched elements and glued them together with whatever they could - some fragments with cement, others with industrial glue, still others with melted plastic and rubber from old tires. What was created, did not look much different from all the landfill around, but inside it was a warm shelter, which could be considered a house for lack of better alternatives. They were even equipped with primitive furniture: a wardrobe made of plywood, a chest of drawers made of boxes of various sizes, a table and chairs from old packages. There were heavy crates against the walls and a makeshift cooker in one corner. Its central part was a peculiar tripod made of haphazardly welded metal bars and a large circle of thick iron. In the lower part, the bars were held together by a tin bowl in which a fire was lit, fueled by whatever was available. Xenia was stirring a ladle in a pot, set on the rim, from which steam was puffing.

The door creaked eerily. A woman entered the hut, carrying a crying boy in her arms. She sat him down on one of the crates and stretched until her bones crackled.

So? Xenia asked, not turning from the kitchen.

Just as you might suppose, I had to explain to the kid that he had become an orphan. He took it very badly.

What a mess. And what will happen to him now?

Nothing. He will stay with us. You’re going to have a younger brother.

Why, mom! the girl turned abruptly, clutching the ladle in her hand as if it were a weapon. It’s not easy for us as it is! Why would we need this small parasite here on top of that?!

The woman looked at her gloomily. As she stood there, lit by the glare of an oil lamp suspended under the ceiling, she looked to be at least fifty years old. A shabby sweatshirt and work pants, splattered with grease, only increased this impression. But her eyes were surprisingly young, and her face, though thin and pale, still retained the features of its former beauty. Lush copper-colored hair, pulled back from the back of the head, curled at the ends into rings.

Stop it already, she demanded. I’m too tired to argue with you. Pour the soup into the bowls, I’ll go to the water pump with that mess of a kid. I must wash him if he is to sit at the table with us. She opened one of the chests that served as chairs and pulled out a pile of clothes, mostly worn and patched multiple times. Most of the patches had nothing to do with the original material, apparently whatever available fabric had been used. The woman looked at each item carefully, then set aside baggy shorts and a small khaki blouse, almost without holes, unlike the rest.

There will be problem with shoes, she murmured.

We will find something, Xenia stirred the soup again and extinguished the fire under the pot. Worse thing is that tomorrow is market day. What am I going to do with this brat?

You will take him with you.

Oh, wonderful.

The little boy they talked about so unceremoniously, was still sitting in his seat, crying and sniffling loudly. When the woman faced him again, he fell silent, clearly frightened.

What is your name?

Ko... Kola.

Kola and what next? At least let us know your otchestvo"[1].

I don’t know. My mom only called me like this.

Alright. My name is Felicity. Everyone calls me ‘Mother Fela’ and you can call me that too. You already know Xenia. Now get up, I won’t carry you again. We’re going to wash up.

The boy nodded humbly, wiped his face with a torn sleeve, and toddled, following the woman obediently. She led him to the back of the cabin, where a makeshift pump protruded from the ground. Beneath its rusty pipe stood a tin trough, half full of water. Felicity took a piece of hard, brown soap from her pocket, took the old rags off the child, and began to scrub him unceremoniously from head to toe, pouring copious amounts of cold water over him. She paid particular attention to his head, rubbing it hard with her fingers, and then repeatedly combing the wet hair with a thick comb. After a while the boy began to chatter his teeth and tremble like in a fever attack, but he did not dare to complain. Felicity took pity on him only when she decided that he was already clean enough. Then she dried him with a coarse cloth towel and helped him put on clean clothes.

When they returned, there were three clay bowls of steaming soup on the table. Kola’s eyes shone at the sight, and it was probably only the fear of Xenia’s menacing expression that prevented him from immediately lunging for food. The girl pushed into his hand a spoon, hammered out of a corrugated sheet metal and smoothed at the edges with a file.

Hope you know how to behave at the table, you larva. Don’t spill it.

And eat slowly, Felicity said imperiously, I know you’re very hungry, but hold back or you’ll start vomiting. We cannot afford to waste food.

Kola obeyed, though he visibly had to force himself to refrain from devouring the entire bowl at once. When he scraped the last leftovers off the bottom, Xenia took the vessel from him and washed it in one of the buckets.

Take a good look, she said, and from today on you will do it yourself, larva. I’m not going to serve you.

The boy nodded meekly. His hair, drying in the heat, grew lighter and lighter, and you could tell when he got rid of a layer of dirt, that he was quite a cute kid. If only he weren’t so emaciated... He looked like a pile of bones covered with skin, and his eyes seemed too large for a narrow face.

Tell me about yourself now, Felicity demanded, but be short, because I want to go to bed. I have to get up early tomorrow.

Kola fidgeted uncertainly in his place.

I don’t know anything. I lived with my mom in a large place underground. They gave us canned food. There were many people there, but we weren’t even allowed to talk to them. Mom was very scared of them. She was generally afraid. Especially when they took me for examination in a closed part, where everything was white. She loved me. Every time when I came back, she was crying and hugging me so tightly that I couldn’t breathe. Then we ran away when one of the tunnels collapsed. We hid in various places. We had nothing to eat. My mom said she wouldn’t let them make a guinea pig of myself... He broke off, wrinkling his bone-thin nose. Why a pig?

He looked questioningly at Felicity, who only shrugged in reply. She didn’t know what it was about, or maybe she did, only didn’t want to explain it.

Didn’t your mother tell you about any family?

The boy shook his head. He grimaced again and tears started to run down his cheeks. It did not make an impression on the woman, it could be seen that she was thinking about something intensely.

Yeah. It means you don’t have much choice. You will stay with us. I have the afternoon off the day after tomorrow, I’ll get documents for you.

Fantastic, Xenia burst out again. I wonder how you will convince Provider Sangushka.

It’s my business, her mother cut short.

Who is Pro-something? Kola whimpered questioningly, wiping his nose with his sleeve.

An official. A clerk for the civilian population in our area. Okay, sleep now, brats. It’s about time, Felicity yawned widely and blew out the flame of the oil lamp.

The sleeping area of the house was hidden behind a curtain of intricately intertwined colored cloths, decorated with sewn-on applications. There were no beds, only hand-made mattresses and thick military sleeping bags on the threshing floor. It smelled of old rags and urine. Felicity took two rolled-up blankets out of the corner and spread them out in the corner.

For now, you’re sleeping here until we come up with something better. If you want to pee or whatever at night, there’s a bucket in the corner. Don’t you dare go outside for this.

"Yes, I know. The psotches hunt after dark."

As if on cue, the boy’s words were answered by a ghastly, quivering howl from the distant forest. It did not scare him, it was an inseparable part of the night landscape, and he only glanced at the door, visible through the pulled curtain, to see whether it was properly closed. Psotches did not enter human settlements, but they ventured nearby to look for prey. It was better not to meet them face to face. The orphaned boy covered himself up to his head with a blanket and fell asleep, exhausted by the experiences of the tough day.

*****

The smell of a heated soup woke Kola from his sleep. The food smelled of satiety, warmth, and everything that was put into it. He didn’t even know what that might be, but his stomach rumbled. Then he remembered that he was an orphan now, and his lips curved into a horseshoe.

Don’t you cry again, he heard Xenia’s harsh voice. Get up and eat.

I want to pee.

I’ve already taken out the bucket. I thought you would never wake up again, even the siren from the Stronghold did not bother you.

So what should I do?

The girl sighed demonstratively.

Come, Larva. I’ll show you our outhouse.

The secluded place was hidden behind the hillside and was simply a deep chasm. The stench coming from it was much weaker than might have been expected, and after peeking into it, Kola understood why.

Something lives there!

Xenia laughed dryly.

Yes. I don’t know what it is, but it likes all things nasty. That’s why we use this hole. Do what you have to do and come back. We don’t have all day.

She turned and walked away, beating the rhythm on the stones with the wooden soles of her shoes.

From the back, she looked just like a skinny boy, and the impression was enhanced by her shaved head.

Kola peed into the chasm as quickly as he could, then hurried back to the cabin.

He felt as if someone was watching him and it made his spine shiver.

Wash your paws, he heard as he entered the room, but don’t let it occur to that stupid head of yours to drink from the bucket.

Why?

Because it’s water from under the pump, larva. Not drinkable, you’d be sick. We have potable water from this device there, she pointed at two connected canisters. The upper one was half filled with something black, and above it, with water. It seeped through the dark layer, ran down the tubes below, and dripped slowly into the lower reservoir. Xenia took the closed jug standing next to it and poured water from it into a cup. She handed it to the boy.

Just don’t spill it. Clean water is a treasure today.

I know. I won’t spill it. Kola drank greedily, then grabbed the bowl of soup. Thank you. It is delicious. What’s in it?

Don’t be too curious. Finish quickly. Xenia did not even look at the eating boy, she was busy fastening the belts of large bags standing on the ground. Two were just bags on attached wheels, one had shoulder straps like a backpack, and the other one only had a strap to be tossed over the shoulder. Kola swallowed the warm soup in a hurry, then washed the bowl in the bucket and set it on the shelf.

I’ll help you, he offered eagerly. He grabbed the bag with a belt, but barely managed to pick it up. What have you got there, rocks?

Nobody would give a broken ten for them, you idiot, the girl tossed him the handle of one of the bags on wheels. Put your sandals on first, they’re over there. You wouldn’t walk far in those rag slippers of yours.

She was probably right. Kola’s shoes, sewn by his mother, were already falling apart, so he gladly swapped them for slightly oversized sandals made of leather cut into strips. The two-fingers-thick soles were made of a braided material, but not leather, like the top. Someone who made them, braided thick cords, then formed the braids into the desired shape and sewed them together with a strong thread. The boy fastened his new shoes on his feet and found them quite comfortable, although their glory days were surely long gone. He took the handle of the trolley bag and pulled it along with him. It was very heavy, and in addition the wheels, attached to the frame made of pieces of rails, wobbled on the road covered with stones and rubbish.

Xenia marched in front of him with a springy, elongated step. She threw the backpack over her back, and hang the belt of the bag over her left shoulder. She did it as nimbly as if the heavy object weighed nothing. She clenched a long, straight cane in her hand, taller than herself. She helped herself by pushing slightly off the ground with it, and walked as if she were carrying only a light haversack. Kola struggled pulling the luggage entrusted to him, and tried to keep up with his new sister.

It turned out to be impossible. Although the girl was so overloaded that by common sense she should be dragging her feet, she walked quickly without looking back. The boy saw only her thin back, shaved head, and stick-thin legs that stuck out of military shorts. She didn’t look strong, yet apparently she had to be. He watched