Hope in the Cold

On an icy tundra that had once been rural farmland in upstate New York, two youths had been making slow progress south for several days.

They were hoping to reach the ruins of the metropolitan area, following a rumor that the fallout there had subsided, and that there might still be resources among the sea of derelict buildings waiting for opportunistic scavengers to claim them. There was no certainty, but Haydyn and Ambrose knew nothing good waited for them in the other direction. Neither had anyone left living who they trusted but the other.

It was now dark nearly all the time; only for a couple hours around high noon did the sun have enough presence from behind the ceaseless cloud cover to cause something close to daylight. The two were alternately pulling a long wooden sled packed with supplies and riding it gently downhill where the opportunity arose, steering and braking through a system of pulleys attached to a pair of ropes. 

To pass the time on their trek, Haydyn would find objects in the distance — any disruption to the featureless surface of the tundra — and try to guess what they were, sometimes cycling through multiple theories before eventually drawing close enough to tell for certain. For the most part, the subjects of her attention were not overly enthralling; boulders, dead trees, the wreckage of vehicles, or the occasional carcass.

As they crested a ridge toward a wide plateau in the early morning hours, however, she thought she saw something new: a gleam of light that might suggest human activity. It was a pure white dot that pulsated against the dark horizon.

She mulled through possibilities. Headlights? A campfire? 

Catching sight of the light, Ambrose came to a halt alongside her and rifled through his pack, withdrawing a pair of binoculars. After taking a careful look, he wordlessly invited Haydyn to follow suit.

She took care to move the lenses as little as possible as he handed the binoculars to her, and quickly saw what he had trained them on. An old man in a tattered red cloak stood perhaps 200 yards away, his matted gray beard and craggy features faintly illuminated by the pulsing light. Haydyn guessed he must be at least 70 years old, which made him a wonder; people of such advanced age had become a rare sight. 

In a yet-greater wonder, the light was emanating from a semi-spherical structure next to him that was perhaps 10 feet tall and made of what looked like interlocking icicles or crystals. The source of the glow did not seem to be inside, as with an igloo, but rather the crystals themselves. Neither Haydyn nor Ambrose had ever seen the like of it. The old man was circling the structure and periodically leaning in, as if inspecting it.

The youths conferred on how to proceed. The man appeared to have resources — even technology — at his disposal, which offered some incentive to make contact, but there was no way to anticipate whether he was friendly or hostile, armed or unarmed. Moreover, in the event he wanted to join them on the journey, Ambrose pointed out that a man of his age could be a liability and weigh them down.

Though Haydyn was bursting with curiosity, she accepted this assessment. Each pulling the sled by one rope, the two set out to take a wide berth past this unusual scene, and Haydyn began scanning the horizon for something new to train her eyes on and distract herself, though she could not resist the occasional look back.

They had successfully navigated around the mysterious man and his structure by the time the height of day (if it could be called that) was near, and they stopped to rest by the edge of a downhill slope. As she sat down facing in the direction they had come from, Haydyn could still just make out the pulsing light that might forever remain a mystery. 

In that same instant, she saw something that properly alarmed her. The old man was following them; his stride was surprisingly brisk and purposeful even as he navigated deep snow, and he was making no attempt to conceal himself as he gained ground, now closing within a few dozen yards. In one hand, he held a single pulsating crystal.

Resting her hand on Ambrose’s arm, Hayden called this to his attention. His eyes went wide, and he mouthed, ‘Let’s go.’ 

The two leapt to the sled and got it moving toward the edge of the slope before jumping aboard. This was a steeper downhill than they would normally try to navigate, and they had not studied the terrain below, but circumstances had them prepared to take the risk. Soon, they were gaining momentum, and the periodic application of the braking mechanism was doing little to slow them down. Haydyn felt them hit something hard to their right beneath the snow surface, and hung on in desperation as a mist of snow sprayed up around them and the sled started to overturn.

Then it stopped. As if pulled to the ground by a powerful magnet, the sled came to a complete halt. Ambrose had been sitting to Haydyn’s right, on the side that lifted up off the ground on impact with the rock, and was thrown sideways into a snowbank, his wiry limbs flailing. He immediately leapt to his feet, shouting.

“Now, there’s no need for any of that,” came a warm, disarming voice from behind them. 

It was the old man, who had not only somehow caught up with the careening sled, but seized on its rear right corner and prevented it from capsizing.

“Why don’t you come back with me, and we’ll all have something to eat?” he said. “There are some repairs to be done before you’re ready to travel again, anyway.”

Neither dared to argue, and not a word was spoken as all three turned back toward the old man’s headquarters. Haydyn and Ambrose both stared openly at this tall and unnaturally strong fellow, who kept up with them easily while pushing their heavily packed sled up the steep slope.

An intelligent blue gleam shone back at them from behind his mass of beard and deep-set eye sockets. 

The man did not lead them directly to his pulsating igloo, but to a small wooden dwelling nearby, where he prepared them the best stew they had eaten in years. He asked them about their lives and their journey since the war that had leveled civilization and shrouded the world in darkness, never speaking a word about himself.

“Who are you?” Haydyn eventually found the courage to ask.

“A friend,” came the old man’s only reply.

They spent the night, curled up in sleeping bags by a warm wood fire, while the old man retired to an adjacent room. Haydyn woke the next day to Ambrose leaning over her, demanding to leave before their host was up.

“We can go without the sled; whatever we can carry,” he whispered in a fearful hush. “It can’t be far to the city now. I … I don’t know what he is.”

Haydyn was conflicted, mulling the matter when a strained voice interrupted her thoughts.

“Wait,” it called. “I need your help.”

They turned to face the bedroom door, from which the stranger emerged, now bent at the back and struggling to stand as he reached out to them. They didn’t believe it at first, but it was no act; this man, who the previous day was the strongest either had ever seen, was now even feebler than his apparent age would suggest.

At his request, they took him, each supporting one shoulder, and led him outside, where the old man looked skyward and took a deep breath. A few silent moments passed by, and then he was able to stand free of their assistance again.

“Who are you?” Ambrose demanded, before pointing to the glowing structure nearby. “What is that thing?” 

“Stay with me a little longer, and you’ll learn,” said the old man.

A few hours later, he was once more moving around confidently, and his attention was back to the object. He was working on it for purposes unclear to them, moving and rearranging the crystals, establishing what looked like a door. 

Growing to trust that the stranger meant them no harm and would continue to keep them warmed and fed, the youths remained at his side for a span of some weeks, during which he taught them many things about the world, though he still never spoke of himself. They would often repeat the pattern of helping him outside in the morning and then watching his incredible strength return. One day, he announced his intent to tell them everything and brought them to stand before the glowing sphere, to which he had attached a banner bearing a curved emblem.

“It means hope,” he said, gathering that neither of the teenaged orphans beside him could read. 

“I was this planet’s protector for many generations before I failed you. After the conflagration came, I dug myself out of a mountain of rubble and ash, and found the sky dimmed in the endless winter to follow. I’ve grown weaker and weaker ever since, and now these brightest hours of the day are the only time I regain a fraction of my old power.

“You want to know who I am?” he asked. “My father once sent me here from a dying world to carry on the legacy of my race. Now I carry on his legacy, and ask you to carry on mine. This ship will take you to a distant star, where hope is waiting.”

Haydyn could hardly breathe.

“...And you will come with us?” she said.

“No,” the old man replied with a sad smile. “I am all used up now. I’d only weigh you down.”

“I thought it was a myth…” Ambrose whispered.

The old man smiled gently.

“Remember,” he said. “My name was Kal-El.”