The Ice Men
There hadn't been a winter for years now. In February, the last glaciers from the first ice age melted, and the Ice Men came down out of the hills and mountains on the backs of woolly mammoths. There were more of them than we thought.
Scientists had been anticipating this for a few years now, but their discussions had been insubstantial and controversial. Attempts to learn the Ice Men's language had been unrewarded, and we had no way to communicate with them when they first made their way into the cities.
“They are a migratory people,” experts on the news explained. “We can't just expect them to settle down in colonies.”
The small towns in the north were the first to burn.
“Apparently anthropologists miscalculated the time when fire was first discovered.”
A world-wide state of emergency was declared at the beginning of March.
“Today, the Federation of World States has called for a cease-fire in the Eastern Quarter. Countries that have retained their armaments are encouraged to form militias in defense against this new common enemy.”
They arrived in Capitol City on the 29th of March. There must have been a million of them. They piled bundles and bundles of kindling and wood against the walls of the Hassan Ziker Administration Building. I was working there as a junior undersecretary to the Department of Health and Welfare at the time. We watched this all from the security cameras, afraid of violence if we went to the windows.
One of the Ice Men approached the front doors and pressed the buzzer. Kiaji patched him in.
“Come out, or we will burn you to the ground,” a voice said, surprisingly in Anglish.
All eyes turned to President Yassir. “We will come,” he said.
We came out with our hands in the air, which they seemed to find this amusing. We put our hands down.
“You are the children of our enemies” said one of the Ice Men––a woman actually––from the top of her mammoth. “Your fathers wronged us long ago. For centuries you have deliberately misrepresented us and left us in our frozen prison.”
“We don't know what you mean,” said President Yassir. “We did not know of you. What is it you want from us?”
“We want nothing from you that we cannot take ourselves. We will take our lands back. We will set straight the record of our history, and yours. You and your people will give up your weapons and go north. Do not stop until you see no more of our people. Anyone who comes back will be killed.”
Up north in the camps, there was talk of a different account of history than the one we had heard. There were stories––fragments of stories––about the children of Kain, about the rivalry of two tribes of people, and about an exile to the north. I asked President Yassir if he knew anything about these stories.
“Nothing,” he said. “It's been too long.” He shivered, pulling a thin blanket more tightly around his shoulders. Winter was coming.
