Their Silent World

       The cure from gods-forlorn Danish city was a failure. A waste of time, a needless deviation from the route. Dumb Old-World science. But still, there was something in the papers brought by the big Dane that made Tuuri squeak. Before Lalli could tell her off for the noise, she whirled him around and explained that the commanders of the raided hospital had been expecting news from some foreign researchers developing some weird word, a stuff that should be driving grosslings away or even poisoning them. And that the Swedes boasted good test results or something. Sure, it had to be another failure, or history would have been different, but still... Lalli did not know what to make of the news and went back to sleep, and when he woke to the supper, Tuuri, dreamy-eyed, was still ranting about how wonderful it would be to make another expedition to—Lalli didn’t bother to remember the name of the land; it was all dead anyway—the folks there had probably had just too little time and resources to make that stuff, but the formula might still be there, and with a little further development it might work, and people will drive trolls and beasts away in no time and have all lands back, and life will be normal again after a hundred years. Lalli doesn’t understand. His life was absolutely normal before this stupid expedition. Wake up and eat, get a task, run and look and evade and stab, come back and write down what you’ve seen. Sleep, ignore foolish fantasies of Tuuri, lecturing from Onni, or any other noise of the military base. Strange. Emil is anything but quiet, too, and still he is not so much of a bother. Maybe that’s because he speaks stupid Swedish. Foreign words do not catch on to Lalli’s mind and just flow by. Tuuri was too hard to tune out, and Lalli listened unwillingly to all kinds of nonsense about what life had been hundreds of kilometres away or a century ago. He hasn’t believed those stories of the Old World, but the vast expanses of the first city here make him wonder. Were such large cities normal? They’re even larger than Mora. He didn’t like Mora. Danish cities, infested and corroded, look monstrous. All those high concrete buildings, metal cars, endless roads, heaps of bones, and swarms of trolls... Lalli tries to imagine it all alive and new, each machine roaring like their tank, and people—thousands of strange people talking, walking, being weird. No, it hurts even to think of that. And all those people surely won’t need Lalli. They’ll just go and spread that weird stuff around wherever they go, without any scouts. A Swedish boy with a spray gun instead of a flamethrower will be enough. Sure, Lalli won’t have to make reports. Struggling with words is a bother. But if he doesn’t have to scout nests and giants, if he doesn’t have to kill trolls and free the souls of beasts, what will he do instead? Hunting for food, swimming in lakes, fishing, lying in the sun, stretching, yawning? Would be nice for a day or two. But… forever? He is good at scouting. If he’s not needed... Then he can’t be good? What if Emil doesn’t need him anymore? He will be busy. He won’t have time to pat Lalli, hold him so tight in a warm embrace, or help Lalli with his urgent needs. It’s not lethal—Lalli has coped alone before—but not so pleasant, either. Like a Big Dane’s cookie after Big Dane’s broth. Emil has such nice, warm, and soft hands. Even the blonde boy’s name is sweet and round, like a cookie. Lalli rolls it on the tongue but never lets it out aloud. No need to make him even more bubbly. Sometimes Emil is too annoying with his touches, strokes, and shoulder bumps when Lalli does not need company. Less annoying than other people. Even less annoying than Tuuri. Most of time Lalli doesn’t… didn’t think much of her. An inevitable loud annoyance, making silly jokes, talking, and doing nonsense all the time. Yet over a pile of stones that were her tomb, Lalli still felt cold and empty, as if it were him drowning in the winter sea. He wanted to curl up in a ball and have the stupid Swede’s hand on his back. As if it might ease the internal cringing. Lalli did fail, after all. Failed to protect Tuuri. And now even the stupid, useless Icelander shouted at him. And Captain is sour. And Big Dane says something long and disapproving while forcing Lalli to eat. So much like Onni did quite often in Keuruu. Onni. He will be angry and say that Lalli made a mistake and failed him, and was not good enough. Maybe he’ll even shout. Or worse, say it all without words, by looks only, and walk away. Lalli shudders; he hates being wrong. He has always been right, even years ago when the cousin scolded him for poor report ending in deaths of some hunters. It was not a mistake but Lalli could not confess it. Only Emil still treats him the same:  Lalli does not hear any blaming notes in his stupid foreign babbling and feels a little bit less rotten. He even dares to tell himself that going into the Silent World is stupid if you’re not immune. Or that all people die anyway, of other diseases, or wounds, or old age. Legends say (stupid stories of the Old World told by Tuuri) that before, people would even kill each other, in singles or on a large scale. Tuuri said it was called a ‘war’. No, don’t think of Tuuri, it will hurt again, and Lalli doesn’t like to be hurt.  ...If there are no beasts and trolls around and people are everywhere, will they start killing each other again? To shake off the gloom, Lalli tries to imagine that Loud Woman whips out her dagger and stabs him. Nah, he will dodge and strike back, he is faster than her. Emil is not. The cold creeps up Lalli’s stomach and limbs. He peeks from under the bunk, but Emil is not around. The need to see his smile and to feel his hot fingers is almost unbearable. Lalli rolls out and goes to the tank head cabin. Without Tuuri, quarantine is over, doors between all compartments are open again. The idiot Icelander is put to some use at last and makes dinner because Big Dane is too busy talking over the map with Loud Woman, he is in charge of driving instead of Tuuri. She showed him the basics while she was still around. At last, Lalli catches a glimpse of Emil in the rear-view mirror. The Swede is squatting in the dusk, at the other side of their tank, smoke is rising behind him. That’s it, Lalli thinks. Those Hiisi-begotten papers. He returns to the front-mid-section where the most important documents and Tuuri’s transcripts are stored. He remembers where one particular folder is, and stuffs it under his tunic. It is not easy to walk with something next to the chest and look unsuspicious, and stupid Braid Guy chooses this moment to call everyone for a meal. Lalli snorts, takes a bowl from the Icelander, and refuses to take the second one. He needs a free hand to keep the folder in place and a prop to send Emil away. Maybe Lalli doesn’t always understand other people, but he realises that destroying something others have been so wrought up about will not be forgiven. This stuff is important. If it helps to get rid of grosslings, no one would die of Rash or trolls. Like Tuuri did. The papers might save someone in the future, but Lalli cannot bring himself to care for “someone”. It’s too late to save Tuuri. Onni is too strong and wary; he is out of danger anyway, even without that weird stuff. And then there’s Emil. Lalli can still keep him. But for that, the Swede must go away for some minutes, no matter how much Lalli wants to lean on him. Lalli prods him by the toe. Emil goes. It gives enough time to do some burning. Emil is clumsy and won’t be back soon, and maybe he will even drop his food like he has dropped his lighter by the improvised fireplace. When Emil returns, Lalli is almost finished. Charred paper sheets crumble into ash and take the dangerous information down with them. Almost. Loud Woman and Emil don’t read the books they collect, they won’t remember the details. The stowaway guy does not understand the papers' language, and Tuuri did not let him help her with rewriting the stuff. He’s no danger either. Big Dane is still suspicious. He is able and likely to stick his nose everywhere and remember what he has seen. Lalli decides to think about it later, when the tank breaks down. It’s a matter of time, Big Dane drives lousy, they won’t guess it is not an accident. Like it was not an incident back in Keuruu. It was not a mistake. That hunter shouldn’t have cornered him in a sauna, pinned him to a wall, and hurt him, and said that he saw Lalli was not into women and thus had no other choice of partners in the Harrison but him. Hmpf. Without the tank, anything can happen to the team or to some of them if their scout goes by the First Rule. That is, stays silent after noticing a grossling and stands still when it attacks someone. Just make sure nothing happens to the Swede until they board a rescue ship. Lalli shoots him a glance and goes still as Emil sits down on his knees and watches the scene. He is so close that their elbows and knees touch, like nothing has happened. Like Lalli is still good. Then the Swede says something quiet and cooing, his bare hand, hot as it should be, brushes over Lalli’s nose and cheek as if wiping away something. Ah, must be ash. Emil does That Very smile, which Lalli wants to see. And maybe not just to see. Now he definitely does not mind a touch. A small one. Emil’s hand still smells of burnt paper, and Lalli catches it and rests his cheek on it to inhale the smoke. It’s sweeter than any flower. Back in Mora, he stroked down Lalli’s hair, and Lalli sensed at once that this boy was the same as him and would not reject him. A rare human. Weird, of course, but tolerable and sometimes even pleasant like no one else. That’s something about his face. When the Swede smiles, Lalli feels warmth without an actual embrace. Emil will not die of Rash, and Lalli will do his best to save him from trolls and beasts. He won’t fail anymore. And their silent world will be saved.