Incipiency [Chapter One]

In those parts of the world, the snow never stopped. It was as eternal as sand on a beach, and as ubiquitous as God himself. Everything was encased in pallor – from the most innocuous of verdure and shrubbery, to the most impregnable of the northern mountain range – the strati made no distinction. Expansive forests of pine and oak surrounded the inhabited areas, while granite golems surrounded them. Lakes and ponds were frequent, although they were often mistaken as powdered ground by inept wayfarers.
Travelers were hardly a concern in Amenthire, anyhow. The area was no booming tourist attraction: the temperature rarely ventured beyond the realm of the negative, and to say that things might one day thaw out was not so far from treason. Conversely, the residents didn’t mind – the longer you live anywhere, the less you hate it. There was no metropolis, no industrial city, not even a thriving town – there were villages, scattered few and far between, reminiscent of the Neolithic days. There were no cars, and no roads – only footprints and snow.
It fell at astounding speeds now as the boy with white hair trekked across the plains. With each multi-pitched crunch of his boots, the frozen vegetation further composed its botanical requiem. At a distance, his house was difficult to make out: the walls were made of bleached wood, and the roof was smothered with snow. If not for the smoke that billowed out, it would’ve been just another snowdrift.
He entered the living room precariously. Memorization was crucial in safely navigating the darkest room in the house. Everything therein was an antique: the grandfather clock, the coffee table - even the dust particles were probably expensive. Another large room connected the dining room to the living room. A kerosene heater sat in the middle of the hall, illuminating the hallway, and pervading the rest of the house with its acrid smell. The white-haired boy entered the dining room, which was simply a cranny with a window behind the table. A man sat alone in the dark room, playing cards.
More often that not, he sat alone at the table, flipping over card after card, waiting to be granted some lavish prize for all of his Solitaire victories. When he wasn’t there, he was in the basement, toiling to create carpentry masterpieces. He specialized in birdhouses, even with the knowledge firm in mind that no birds would ever frequent them.
“I hate this game,” he said, raising his head, revealing his wrinkled face. His hair was long and tangled, snow-white, with intrusive clumps of gray in some spaces. His fingernails were like claws, probably capable of ripping flesh. He claimed he hadn’t cut either of them in a decade, a proclamation maybe part-fiction.
“Why play it then?” questioned the white-haired boy. “If you hate it so much?”
“Have you ever heard of any other card games that people play alone? Why do you think they call it Solitaire? It’s for people bored completely out of their minds, probably because they can’t get their own grandchildren to sit down for more than five minutes and play a simple card game with them,” ranted the old man.
“I’m sure that’s the exact reason,” said the white-haired boy, laughing.
“Where have you been, anyhow?” questioned the old man, giving the boy half the deck.
“Just walking around,” he replied, gazing at the cerulean seraphim, not at all adamant about this game of war.
“You go first, now. First to lay down a card - first to lose.”
”That your philosophy?” questioned the boy, robbed of card after card.
“No, it’s a surefire fifty-fifty chance, though, depending on how many people expect to lose – excluding me, of course,” said his grandpa, smiling.
The game continued.
“I’m no competition for you, Jim,” said the white-haired boy, giving up his last card.
Jim laughed, knocking his hair from his eyes. It provided him with little additional peripheral vision – he was fifty-three, and his sight was quickly deteriorating.
“Where are you off to now?” questioned Jim, preparing to deal the cards again. Walter had already stood up by then – not out of negligence, but of boredom.
“Probably to Adam’s.”
“Getting drunk this early?” questioned Jim.
Walter laughed. He knew Jim knew about his illegality – he had never before been that blunt about it.
“Yeah. You want something?” questioned Walter, shrugging it off with a joke.
Jim silently continued his game of Solitaire.
With that, Walter set off again, proceeding down the icy stairs, careful not to crack his skull in the process. Skull cracking was common in Amenthire – everyone knew to walk slowly on ice, but few actually did.
Adam’s house was a mere five-minute walk away. His family owned the only tavern in Amenthire: a busy place known as The Divine. Adam’s parents spent most of their there, not drowning their sorrows, but helping others to drown theirs – sorrow had quite the lung-capacity in Amenthire. Adam, meanwhile, spent most of his time in his basement. It was practically his own little house, complete with a microwave, refrigerator, bathroom, and of course, the all-essential alcoholic beverage – or three.
Walter invited himself in, and proceeded through the luxurious house.
“Who is it?” called Adam from the basement.
“It’s your father,” said Walter, in his most adult voice. He approached the staircase.
“I bet,” said Adam. “Hurry up.”
“I’m hurrying. You need an escalator.”
At the bottom, Adam sat in a lounge-area, complete with three velvet sofas, and a sprawled-out futon. Adam displayed a complete disregard for cleanliness. A stack of bottles and cans was assimilating near the sofa – it put on a little more weight each time Walter saw it, just like Adam did. He sat down on the sofa, careful not to trip and crack his skull.
“Here,” said Adam, handing him a beer. It was immediate, showing Adam’s astringent alcoholism.
“I don’t want any right now,” said Walter, grabbing the remote, and switching on the TV.
“You mean to tell me, you came over to watch my TV? In the only house that has electricity?”
“Yep,” replied Walter, casting a quick glance at Adam.
“Oh, help yourself,” replied Adam, chuckling. His obesity laughed right along with him – he was a chubby kid even before the alcohol infiltrated his liver – not that it helped any.
“I was just kind of hoping we’d get drunk and throw snowballs at each other,” added Adam after a lapse of silence.
“You’re already drunk. We’ll go outside and I’ll throw snowballs at you.”
“Oh, come on, drink that already,” said Adam.
Soon enough, Walter had consumed his fair share.
“Are we losers or what?” questioned Adam. “We’re sitting here—just sitting.”
"Not much else to do, is there?" replied Walter.
“Just look at it from an optimistic standpoint,” said Adam.
“What’s that—Adam?”
”Huh?” he questioned, snapping back into reality.
”What’s an optimistic standpoint?”
“For me, an optimistic standpoint is: It could always be worse.”
”I guess that’s true.”
”My dad said a funny thing the other day,” began Adam.
The door slammed upstairs. Someone had obviously walked in – the house instantaneously became ten degrees cooler.
“He said that before you whine about not having enough money to buy shoes--”
The footsteps continued upstairs.
“—-wait until you meet a legless person.”
Adam paused to let it all sink in.
“Isn’t that great? Talk about optimism. Some of us have everything, and we worry about stupid stuff – and the people that have nothing, why, they just bend over and take it. Now, that’s ironic.”
“You know else is ironic?” questioned Walter.
“What’s that?”
”I think there’s someone upstairs. You live here, and you don’t even hear it—“
“Ah man, give me your beer!”
“Why?” questioned Walter.
“It’s probably my dad,” he said, with a sense of exigency.
Walter pointed to the pile of cans.
“Are you retarded? How could he not know you drink?”
“Oh, he knows I do. He just doesn’t know you do.”
”Why would he care?” questioned Walter, hesitant to capitulate his beverage.
The basement door opened.
“He just would,” said Adam, snatching the beer.
“Whatever,” said Walter, stretching.
“Anyone down there?” questioned a voice, a bit too immature to be a father’s.
“Yeah,” replied Adam, perplexed.
“It’s Devulm. And Amy too, by the sound of it,” said Walter, taking back his drink.
Devulm stepped into the room first – he was a tall, slender teenager. His hair was spiked up, gelled beyond its threshold. He was the archetypical prep, adorned in layers of name-brand clothes and coats. Amy remained behind Devulm, drowning in her timidity. Walter glanced at her for only a second, before turning his eyes back to the TV. She was completely compatible with Devulm – no more, or no less. Walter and Devulm once shared many of the same magnanimous character attributes, which forced Walter to question repetitively why he wasn’t the one who had accompanied Amy down the stairs on that frigid day.
“How’s it going, guys?” questioned Devulm, leading Amy to the sofa. She sat down, crossing her legs immediately, staring directly at Walter – as if he had any reason to stare back.
“Want a beer?” questioned Adam.
“No thanks. Like to keep these abs, if you know what I’m saying',” said Devulm, running his hands up and down his abdomen. “Or I might end up like you.”
Devulm didn’t laugh. It was a straightforward assault – cold and heartless. Amy didn’t attempt to reprimand him. It was apparent she had absorbed a portion of his negativity.
“What have you been up to?” asked Devulm, leaning forward, and placing his hands in his lap.
“Not a thing,” replied Walter, hoping that such a lackluster response would end the conversation.
“You going to The Divine tonight?" questioned Devulm. He stopped for a moment, as if he had just heard the word for the very first time.
"That’s an odd name for a place like that - how’d you come up with that anyhow?”
“It’s not my tavern,” replied Adam.
“What’s going on over there?” asked Walter.
“They’re revealing the secret of life at seven,” said Devulm in a sarcastic way that lent no humor. “I’m sure you’re probably sick of playing cards with Jim all the time.”
Walter didn’t respond. He finished his beer, and crushed the can, adding it to the pile.
“See you guys later,” he said, coldly, urging them away with the best of his subtlety. “We might stop by.”
“Later,” said Devulm, accompanying Amy back up the stairs. She looked back one final time, her blonde hair shining in the dim light – it was the only golden part of her otherwise corrupted body. Devulm slammed the door when he left, allowing the frigidity to assume an ill-fated stranglehold on the house. He never knew indefinitely when he was invited, but he always knew exactly when he wasn’t.

***

Hours later, the snow had finally stopped. Minutes after that miracle, it had started up again, relentless as ever. The paths had evanesced completely by the time that multitudes of people had arrived at The Divine. Hundreds of people came, with nothing to celebrate except sorrow.
The leader of the Amenthire region was an exuberant man known as Astum. He wore as many layers of clothing as he could, if for no other apparent reason than to accentuate his weight. He spoke with prolixity, surprising for a man whose beard would have caught most of his words. Groups of people frequently gathered to hear him speak, whenever and wherever he would. It was a rare occasion when he ventured as far south as The Divine, with no other purpose in mind, but to talk arbitrarily to those who would listen.
He began earlier than expected, before everyone had arrived, and even further before everyone lost track of what was transpiring in the first place. Adam, Amy, Devulm, and Walter sat in the corner, close enough to hear, but far enough not to see.
“Welcome everyone,” began Astum, standing on the stage in front of the crowd. “I trust you’ve all been keeping warm. I wish I could control the weather out there – I’d make it sunny as hell. I don’t really know whether skin cancer’s worse than winter. But I suppose, then, we’d be forced to find out?”
Some in the crowd laughed. Astum began all of his speeches with the weather, creating no plausible segue into which he would make his point.
“You know, I’d probably change the scenery too. Put some palm trees here and there, a couple of oceans, some sand.” He was merely rambling at that point, but no one cared.
“If anyone here ever sees a shoreline in this world, you come back to Amenthire, and let me know about it. I’ll make you mayor for a year and I’ll go work in the Mines.”
A couple of people laughed at that too – those people that had realized that Astum was right, and that no one was leaving Amenthire – not even to go to Heaven.
“Well, that concludes the meeting, drink up and have—No, no, just kidding. There is, folks, a real reason why I am here,” continued Astum, performing a deus ex machina on his deus ex machina. “Over the next couple of weeks, there will be some people coming into our nice little home in Amenthire. That’s right – people coming all the way over the mountains to see us. Unfortunately, they informed me that they forgot to bring their tents and sleeping bags. Now, that means that any residence that contains two or less inhabitants will stand a fair chance of having company for the next couple of days. And yes, as far as I know, these people are regular bathers. Plus, they’re nice people – we should all get along just fine.”
“Who are these people, and what do they want?” questioned the crowd.
“They’re a group of mercenaries. They call themselves the Expellaries. Let’s just say, that they get things done in places where many things don’t get done. And we’ll leave it at that.”
No one questioned Astum’s decisions – they knew, that whatever he was talking about, he was right.
“I wonder what that’s about?” asked Adam. His fragile mind had a hard enough time keeping up with Astum’s speech, although it was admirable that he had the audacity to ask.
“Probably something stupid,” said Devulm. “Isn’t that right?”
He reached over and kissed Amy on the cheek.
“Yeah,” she replied.
Walter thought about strangling them.
“Well, I’ll be right back,” said Devulm, standing up. If his hair were any larger, he would’ve impaled the ceiling.
“Why didn’t you go with him?” asked Walter.
“He’s a big boy. I think he can take care of himself,” replied Amy.
“Sure he can. I’m just wondering if his leash broke, or if he simply just lengthened it?”
”Why do you say things like that?”
”In hopes that you might one day understand where I’m coming from.”
Adam watched in fascination, sipping his non-alcoholic beverage.
“Do you wonder how they make these?” questioned Adam.
“Take all the alcohol out?”
“Yeah, but there has to be more than it to that,” said Adam, perhaps trying to invoke a deeper discussion.
“I doubt it,” said Walter.
“How’s Jim doing?” questioned Amy, after a short silence.
“Just fine. You’d probably know that if you stopped by more.”
“What is your problem today?”
“I don’t have a problem.”
“Is it something I’ve done?”
Of course it is, dumbass.
“What did I just say?” questioned Walter. “I don’t have a problem.”
“I remember when we could all sit down and talk without arguing,” said Amy, smiling.
“We’re doing it right now. I don’t hear any arguing.”
“I know. There were just less confrontations--” she trailed off. “It was better back then.”
“Yep,” replied Walter.
“How has your vacation been?” continued Amy.
In Amenthire, the school year was inverted - it was simply too cold to think of even having school in the Winter.
“It’s been all right. And yours?” questioned Walter, changing his tone.
“I don’t get a vacation from anything,” said Amy.
“Why is that?”
“Because, Devulm is everywhere I go. I hope he stays gone for awhile.”
“I remember when you guys were best friends,” said Adam.
“I do too,” replied Walter.
“Remember WAD?” questioned Amy, nudging towards Walter, and laughing.
“Yeah” said Walter.
“What’s that?” questioned Adam, trying to squeeze his way into the conversation.
“Some childish invention.”
“I thought it was funny. You were just telling us how you had learned what the word acronym meant. I told my mom about that, and I think, even she, started calling us that,” said Amy. "What's WAD into today, she used to say."
“Having fun, Walter?” questioned Devulm, killing the nostalgia.
He stood behind Walter, his arms crossed at his chest.
“We were just talking about WAD,” explained Amy.
“WAD? Like a wad of something?” questioned Devulm. He still remembered, but things like that are childish to such adult-like people.
“Oh, shut up, Devulm,” said Amy, as Devulm crossed around the table to sit down by his beloved.
“Of course. I remember it,” he said, propping his feet up on the table.
“You know how hard those tables are to wash?” questioned an offended Adam.
Devulm remained incontrovertible.
“Go get us some drinks,” he replied, brushing it off.
“Man, just take your feet off the table,” replied Adam.
“I’ll get them myself. What do you want?”
“Coke,” replied Amy.
“I don’t think they have coke,” said Devulm.
“Go see. If they don’t, just get me water. With lemon.”
Devulm stood up, putting his feet on the floor. He scampered away again, unaware that he had lost two consecutive battles.
“I’m surprised you haven’t hit him yet,” said Amy.
“Who? Me or Adam?”
“Either of you,” replied Amy, laughing. “That’s what he needs.”
“Because, you’d be pissed-off,” replied Walter.
“No way. I can’t count the number of times I’ve wanted to.”
“Why are you still with him, then?” questioned Walter, knowing he shouldn’t have.
“I don’t know, Walter,” replied Amy, with a sense of urgency strong enough to end the conversation.
“I don’t know, either,” said Walter.
Devulm returned with the drinks, sitting down, and propping his feet up on the table once again.
“Why are we all gloomy for?” he asked, sipping his water.
“No one’s gloomy,” replied Amy, smiling.
“It’s not because of me, is it? Talk while I’m gone, stop as soon as I get back. Sounds like something that Adam would do.”
“I haven’t said a word,” replied Adam, backing down.
“So, what have we been talking about, then?” questioned Devulm, directing his attention to Walter and Amy. “Useless childhood memories, I presume?”
“They’re not all useless,” replied Amy, smiling – trying to keep Devulm in a disposition of sanguinity.
“To me, they are,” continued Devulm. “Nothing you ever do can truly have an effect on what happens next. We’ve proven that, I think.”
“If I killed you right now,” said Adam. “Wouldn’t that have an effect on what happens next?”
“Not to me, buddy,” replied Devulm.
“You’d be dead.”
“Doesn’t matter. I’d be dead, so what? My future would be over – no effect on it, because it wouldn’t exist.”
“Let’s say you burnt yourself really bad,” continued Adam.
“Don’t you get it? Physically, sure, I’d be screwed. But it wouldn’t change a damn thing. Nothing changes anything. If you want to change something, you have to do it then and there. You can’t do something, and expect something to result from it.”
“How untrue,” said Amy.
“Happy one minute, dead the next,” continued Devulm. “I think we - us – have proven it. Like I said.”
“We’ve had this talk a million times,” said Amy.
“And each time, there are really only two ways to believe – destiny or luck. I happen to believe in the latter,” replied Devulm.
He did possess a shred of intelligence, perhaps large enough to deter a weary Walter from even arguing with his stupidity.
“Anything else we need to discuss?” questioned Devulm, basking in his wisdom.
“I’m leaving,” said Walter.
“Sounds like a good idea,” added a parasitic Adam.
“Hope I didn’t kill the party,” said Devulm, resting his arms behind his head.
“Nah, I just have to get home. Jim’s expecting me – we’ve got cards to play.”
Adam followed Walter through the crowd of people. Many of them were dancing now, enjoying the benefit of a live band on stage. They weren’t very good, but no one seemed to mind. Just as they were leaving, a voice permeated the carousing.
“Walter!”
Walter glanced back to see Amy sifting through the crowd.
“What?” he asked. “Where’s Devulm?”
“He left. I’m coming with you guys,” she said.
“Did we approve this?” questioned Walter.
“Yes,” replied Amy, walking through Adam and Walter. “Come on.”
A series of underground tunnels crisscrossed Amenthire. These were used primarily for transportation, although the children of Amenthire often frequented them in masses with their gargantuan games of hide and seek. Innumerable amounts of crates and boxes were stacked along the walls, fabricating a smell of rotting wood to accompany the already squalid odor.
“It smells nice down here,” said Adam, trying his hand at sarcasm.
“Sure does,” replied Walter.
“I can only imagine what kind of things live down here,” continued Adam. “I know there are rats and bats, but the other day – hell, I saw a ratbat.”
“A ratbat?” questioned Amy, chuckling.
“Yeah. A ratbat. It was huge. Damn thing even had legs. It’s like someone took a rat and stuck a bat’s wings on it.”
“Interesting,” replied Walter.
“I wonder if it’s a hybrid – like, a liger or something?”
“A liger?”
“Yeah, it’s a mix between a lion and a tiger,” said Adam.
“Didn’t know that,” replied Amy.
They walked for another fifteen minutes before coming to Entry B. The entries were in ascending order – the further north, the higher the letter was. Walter lived almost directly above Entry B, while Adam lived near Entry A.
“End of the road,” said Walter. “Are you going to stay for a bit, Adam?”
“I’ve got stuff to do at home,” replied Adam. “I’ll talk to you guys tomorrow.”
Amy and Walter proceeded up the staircase, opening the iron door, only to be asphyxiated by Winter. They held their arms over their hooded physiognomies as they walked the quarter-mile to Walter’s house. They entered the small dwelling, inadvertently exuding severe disquietudes with every movement.
“That you, Walter?” questioned Jim, from some far-off room.
“Yeah,” he replied, shutting the door behind him. Amy hung her coat up.
“Who’s with you?”
“Amy.”
“Amy, eh? I haven’t seen her in awhile. How are you doing, Amy?”
“Just fine. How about yourself?” she responded.
Walter and Amy started up the staircase. Jim’s room was on the left end of the hallway, while Walter’s lay opposite. They proceeded to the right.
“I’d come and take a good look at you. But, I can’t see a thing,” replied Jim, with a laugh that transposed into a cough.
Walter entered his room first.
“Wait a second,” he said.
He walked carefully throughout the room, turning on the three flashlights that were positioned to provide the utmost amount of illumination. The beams of light trisected his bed in the center of the room. A closet and a dresser occupied the right wall, while shadowy posters hung on the left.
Walter sat down on the bed, his legs dangling over the side. Amy joined him.
“I haven’t been in here for awhile,” she confided.
“Nothing’s changed,” said Walter, glancing over the room.
“What’s this?”
She slid her hand over the dresser, snatching up a piece of crumpled paper. A calligraphic signature was inscribed perfectly in the center.
“Billy Crimson. Walter, why do you have this?”
“He gave it to me. I don’t know why I kept it there,” said Walter, with a nervous laugh.
“Gives me chills just hearing that name.”
Amy sat the paper down, and began fidgeting with other items on the desk.
“Amy, why are you here?” asked Walter, staring directly at her emerald eyes.
“I don’t know, Walter.”
“How long have you been with Devulm?”
“Two years.”
“This is the first time you’ve been here in two years, then. Out of those seven hundred days, what’s different about this one?”
“I just told you, I don’t know. There are so many things I’m sick of.”
“Sick of Devulm?”
“No. I could never be sick of him. I just need time away.”
She sighed.
“Why am I telling you this?” she continued.
“Do you think he would listen?”
“Yeah right. He would try his hardest, but he wouldn’t have any answers. You can’t listen if you can’t respond. It’s so awkward. There are times when I wish Devulm never existed. It would be great if things could be how they used to. When friendship meant everything, and relationship meant nothing,” she rambled.
You let it become that way.
“I couldn’t agree more,” said Walter.
“What’s the point in talking about these things?” questioned Amy after a short silence. “It’s impossible to change them now.”
“You’re right,” said Walter.
“More importantly, Walter, what are you going to do after high school is over? It’s only a few months away.”
“What does everyone else do?”
“No, you’re too smart for the Mines.”
“I know there have been plenty of people in this town smarter than I am. Everyone works at the mines.”
“Yeah, but you’re different.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Well, there’s nothing connotative about it,” replied Amy, smiling, lavishing in her thievery.
“What about Devulm? What would he do after high school?” continued Walter.
“We both know Devulm will spend the rest of his life here – probably in the mines.”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
“Do you ever wonder what’s out there?” continued Amy.
“Out where?” responded Walter, unsure if there were metaphysical implications.
“Beyond Amenthire.”
“All the time.”
“Could you imagine an entire world like Amenthire?”
“Well yeah, I could imagine it. I don’t want to though.”
“Maybe one day – we could leave Amenthire.”
“One day when you’re not with Mister Ostentatious.”
“Oh, go ahead and use words that I don’t know what they mean.”
“I think you’re smart enough to figure it out.”
“Intelligence was never one of my strengths,” said Amy. “Well Walter, I better go. Mom’s probably freaking out,” said Amy abruptly.
“Tell Julie I said hi,” said Walter.
“She’ll be thrilled,” replied Amy, smiling. “Good night, Walter.”
“Good night.”
Walter lay down in his bed, staring at his ceiling. In the uppermost regions, the initials WH and BC were engraved: Walter Hewings, and Billy Crimson. Walter strayed from that abstruse train of thought, focusing his thoughts instead on Amy and Devulm.

***

Their friendship was at its height between their seventh and eighth grade years. Chastisement and bigotry were increasingly prevalent, especially among the cooler kids. Even the uncool kids were trying their hand at it, meeting with failure upon the realization that insults could only seep downward, and that it was unthinkable to affront a cool kid in such a delicate balance of castes.
Amy, Devulm, and Walter distanced themselves from such futile behavior. Instead, they spent the majority of their time outdoors, exploring the vastness of Amenthire.
“Where are we going today?” questioned Devulm.
He was half-asleep, still. It was early, and the snow on the ground had thawed to a thin layer.
“To the graveyard,” replied Walter, with macabre clarity. His voice had deepened first and although he didn’t say anything, it was still obvious Devulm was upset about it.
“We were just there last week,” replied Devulm, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.
“Well, I was there yesterday, and I found something. Something that you guys haven’t seen before,” replied Walter.
“How about you go ahead and tell us what it is? So I know whether or not to go back to bed,” continued Devulm.
Amy laughed.
“If you don’t want to come, just go back to bed.”
“I might.”
Their walk was nearly twenty minutes long. From Amy’s house, the graveyard was a little over two miles – from Walter’s, it was nearly ten. It rested in the center of Amenthire, cloaked in a vast array of trees, and environed on all sides by boulders and cliffs.
The graveyard was slowly becoming obsolete – for the residents of Amenthire, cremation was a more popular way to dispose of the dead. Many children spent their time in the graveyard, and they were all very much alive – invigorated by the fact that the dead could support them so generously in their games of tag and hide and seek.
“So, what is it?” questioned an impatient Devulm, as they moved through the first column of graves.
“We’re almost there,” replied Walter.
Five minutes later, the trio had exited the densest part of the cemetery – from there on out, the remaining tombstones were scattered throughout the massive rock cliff, some of them in places that appeared to be completely unsuitable of interment. Walter continued guiding them, working his way through cliffs and overhangs, trying his best not to be caught off guard by the frozen ground.
“You’re not trying to kill us, are you?” questioned a far-behind Devulm, acting as if he had broken his back with each arduous climb.
“Nah. All I would have to do is steal your hair spray. If I wanted to kill you.”
A chuckle escaped Amy. Walter took pride in this fact – Devulm could always make her laugh, but it was a rarity when Walter could extract such a reaction.
“Funny,” said Devulm. “Just because I like my hair.”
Walter ignored him, focusing instead on what lay ahead. A thirty-foot waterfall peered down at him, encased entirely in ice – a testament to summer’s raw power. Rocks jutted out of the side of the cliff, ensuring that the water didn’t travel straight down – consequently, it resembled a small avalanche that had coated the rocks, and then froze.
“Wow,” said Amy, staring upwards.
“This it?” questioned Devulm, as if he had seen it hundred of times before.
“No,” replied Walter, leading them on a narrow, rocky path around and behind the waterfall. A small cave was etched into the side of the cliff.
“Lead the way,” said a hesitant Devulm.
Walter dug into his coat, pulling out a flashlight.
"Might want to duck down," warned Walter.
"Amy wouldn't have to worry about it," replied Devulm, following Amy, who followed Walter.
"Shut up, I'm not that short," she responded.
"You're absolutely correct," replied Devulm. "Five feet isn't short at all."
"Five-two, actually."
"God, I remember when you wanted to be six feet tall," said Walter. "Hell, none of us are that tall."
"I would still like to be that tall," she continued. "Wouldn't you feel dumb walking around with me, then?"
"Tall girls give me the creeps," replied Devulm.
"Oh, shut up," said Amy.
"How long is this tunnel?" asked Devulm, after a lapse of silence.
"I don't know, one or two miles," replied Walter.
"Seriously. How long?"
"A mile or two."
For the next three miles, they walked, dependant solely on Walter - his flashlight had backed out of the excursion not even a mile in. Throughout the entire journey, Devulm complained more than Walter and Amy combined, thus leaving the entirety of the complaints at the discretion of Devulm.
At last, they stepped out into the day, freed from the compactness they had long been subjected to. The vegetation above blocked most of the sunlight out - tangled trees grew directly out of the rocks, twisting desperately to reach the sun. They were selfish in their efforts, preventing the rays from ever reaching the ground.
“Now, what the hell is that?” asked Devulm, stopping behind Walter. He glanced back at Amy, who was surely thinking the same thing.

***

The trio returned the next day, this time, equipped with machetes and hatchets. They spent the morning and afternoon climbing the rocks and ridding themselves of the encumbering trees. By the time they were finished, it looked more like noon instead of midnight. They piled the branches and set them ablaze, sitting around the conflagration for hours.
“Let’s not say anything about this,” said Devulm. “Someone else would come back here and screw it up.”
”That’s true,” replied Walter, warming his hands. “Was this worth waking up for?”
“Nah,” replied Devulm, partially joking. “It would be if there was a way inside.”
”Trust me, I’ve checked.”
“Go check again,” commanded Devulm.
“Why don’t you check?”
“I’m freezing,” whined Devulm.
“Jesus,” replied Walter, acquiescing to Devulm’s weak assertiveness.
He stood up, leaving an empty spot between Devulm and Amy.
He approached the edifice slowly, staring up the entire time. Even with the trees out of the way, he could barely see the top of the black structure. He walked right up to the tower, scanning its exterior for any misplaced brick that might yield an entrance.
“I told you there wasn’t a way in,” shouted Walter.
“Why would someone build a tower, and not put a door on it?” yelled Devulm.
“Inept architects, I suppose,” said Walter to himself.
He gazed at the tower one last time, and turned back to see Amy and Devulm now sitting behind the blaze. They were close together, sharing each other’s minimal warmth. The flames shot up, blocking his view, forcing him to wonder what they were doing shrouded by the fire.
The phlogiston grew even more, all the way to the point where it was as tall as the tower. Walter watched this illusory display with fascination, as the flames leapt from cloud to cloud, melting them away, causing ashes to fall rather than snow. The fiery amoeba continued across the sky, sending forth its pseudopodia to every cloud, until there were none left.
And just like that, it was over. Amy and Devulm had returned to their positions in front of the wimpy blaze, the ground had returned to white, and the clouds reclaimed their positions above everything that had happened.
It would’ve been stupid had Walter asked them if they had witnessed the spectacle – they obviously didn’t. He held off talking about it entirely - instead he walked back towards the fire, and sat down between Amy and Devulm.
“Are you guys going to The Gathering tomorrow?” questioned Devulm.
The Gathering was an annual meeting held by the elders of Amenthire. Not willing to unintentionally jeopardize any aspect of Amenthire, Astum generally took it upon himself to completely control the event. While it always started out as a simple meeting, it always grew into a party – a celebration so massive that it usually encompassed the entirety of Amenthire.
“Yeah, I’ll probably go with Jim,” replied Walter.
“As far as I know, I’m going,” replied Amy. “I guess we don’t really have a choice – it’s a big party.”

***

Walter woke up late the next day. He searched the entire house – Jim was nowhere to be found. On the table, his perfectly preserved game of Solitaire remained – only a few more moves would have ensured success or defeat. Walter stepped out onto the porch, to find Jim standing, staring out into the gray. There was no snow falling now – in fact, the temperature had maintained itself at a solid thirty-two degrees for most of the day.
“Why are you up so early?” questioned the old man, turning towards Walter.
“If there were anything to do – other than sleep,” replied Walter.
“I’ve walked ten miles already today,” bragged Jim.
“What time is it, anyhow?” questioned Walter.
“Almost four.”
”Four?” exclaimed Walter. His intention was to beat Devulm to The Gathering – not to sleep while it transpired.
“The Gathering started about six hours ago,” said Jim. “I was about ready to come and get you up – make sure you were still breathing and everything.”
“I’m going to go now,” said Walter.
“Wait up, we’ll walk together,” said Jim, running back into the house.
They entered the underground at Entry B – the heart of The Gathering was located at Astum’s magnificent dwelling, right above Entry E.
“I wonder if they’ll ever clean these up,” said Jim, pinching his nose as they walked.
Walter didn’t answer – his thoughts were focused directly on Amy, and, of course, the lurking catalyst, Devulm.
“I might just decide to do it myself,” continued Jim. “I killed a rat the other day, merely out of self-defense.”
”Self-defense? How big was the rat?” replied Walter.
“When it comes to rats, it doesn’t matter how big they are. If they’re coming at you, then you have every right to do whatever’s necessary,” proclaimed Jim. “I hate those bastards – seriously. Those tails, something about those wavy little tails of theirs just makes me want to – oh, you have no idea.”
Years back, when Walter was in the fifth grade, he brought home a group of rats to use for a science project. Two of the rats died while in captivity, two of them escaped, and one - evidently, the most lethargic of them all – remained in the cage, only to die years later.
The rats that had escaped met horrible demises at the hands of Jim. The first one was a bit obvious with his hiding spot: every night, the rat would come out from underneath the refrigerator to raid the numerous cereal boxes. After many failed attempts, Walter desisted in his efforts to catch him – it appeared futile, at best.
One evening, Jim finally snapped; he dropped to the floor, furious as could be. He swept his arm back and forth underneath the refrigerator, grabbing mercilessly onto anything that might resemble fur.
“Son of a bitch!” he screamed, quickly withdrawing his hand. The rat was latched securely onto his finger, gnawing away at its discretion.
Jim grabbed the rat with his other hand, and hurled it at the wall with breakneck speed, where it exploded on impact. He spent the rest of the evening nursing his wound, and trying to console an inconsolable Walter that it was merely an accident.
Jim took no chances with the other rat. He followed it around the entire next morning, noting its every movement. Thankfully, Walter was at school, and wouldn’t have to witness the ensuing carnage.
Eventually, Jim gave up and sat down at the table, convinced that a mistake on the rat’s part would turn the tables. Halfway into his game of Clock Solitaire, he saw the rat make its way through the kitchen, and into the bag of dog food. Jim sprung up, grabbed the bag, and closed it. He walked out into the backyard, making his way towards a cluster of trees.
In a display of fear, rather than sadism, Jim swung the bag, busting the bark off the impact point. One swing was hardly enough - neither were five, or even ten swings. Jim swung until the bag busted, and the rat fell out, mangled and dead. He sighed, and returned to the house, wherein, several hours later, he would lie about the whole occasion, and put the blame entirely on the dog.
“Yeah, I know you hate them,” replied Walter. “Rats everywhere should fear you.”
“Oh, they do,” replied Jim, smiling.
On their journey, they had passed several other parties that were making their way towards the same objective. Adults, children, grandpas; it didn’t matter. Everyone was invited, and everyone went. They finally came upon the dimly lit sign that read “Entry E.”
They exited the passageway, and proceeded towards the masses of people that had gathered around Astum’s house. Several large bonfires were erected in the centers of these groups, sending their ashes high into the freezing sky. Walter sat down near Jim, who was immediately engaged in conversation with some of Amenthire’s superannuated citizens.
Walter peered into the crowds, looking for Amy or Devulm, hoping to find at least one of them. Before his eyes had ventured too far away, he heard Amy’s voice - the only noise he could hear amid the revelry. Devulm’s voice intruded almost directly thereafter, sending shivers through Walter.
“There you are,” he said, walking up to the seat. Amy was walking near him - not in front of, not behind, but directly beside him.
“Hey guys,” said Jim, turning away from his socializing. “Amy, Devulm.”
“How are you, Jim?” asked Amy, rearing forward.
“You learn, when you get to my age, that it doesn’t matter how you are – just the fact that you’re still alive,” responded Jim, dismally. “No, I’m kidding. I’m doing just fine, how about you guys? Been keeping warm?”
“Trying,” responded Devulm.
Walter stared at Amy, who was staring at Devulm, who was in turn, staring at Jim, waiting for him to say something else.
“Want to go walk with us?” questioned Devulm.
“Not really,” replied Walter.
“Why not?” questioned Amy, as if she cared.
“Alright, alright,” he responded, after a short hesitation.
For the next couple of hours, they walked around the various bonfires, stopping and chatting with any accredited peers. Each time they did so, Devulm would whine when the socialization time exceeded his own personal limit of five minutes or so.
“Well, see you guys later,” he would say. “We have more people to talk to.”
In actuality, it was Walter who did all of the talking – he rambled on as pointlessly as he could – anything to take his mind off Devulm, and more importantly, Amy. Eventually, he remained behind to talk, while Amy and Devulm continued their walk around the fires. It was almost nine, by then, and the darkness had finally began its efforts to suffuse the light of the blazes.
Eventually, Walter was left all alone – his friends had deserted him, and he sat, staring up at the flames and the ashes.
“Hey, what’s your name?”
Walter turned towards the voice.
“Walter. Who are you?”
“Billy. Does Walter have a last name?”
”It’s Hewings.”
”Interesting. Mine’s Crimson. Billy Crimson.”