The Glacier (Part Three)

A story of a dying world, collective guilt, and a better future — in three parts.

Welcome to the last part of The Glacier!

The following short story, divided into three parts, follows the story of Lucija as she observes, over decades, the slow death of the fictional Mount Treglav glacier.

In part one, Lucija, merely a child, visits the lake at the foot of the glacier with her grandfather. In part two, she returns with her husband, and in part three, she visits, for the last time in her life, with her son and his children.

This is a story about a changing earth, the terrible loss we all carry, and, in the end, hope for a better future.

Photo by Lisa and everlast jorney

---

With old age comes wisdom, they say, but Lucija feels only exhaustion and muffled pain. She rests in the camping chair, drowsy from the pills, her granddaughter beside her, and by all means, she should feel... something.

Lake Bohan looks the same as it did decades ago, when she came here with her grandfather, and then, again, when Nikola led her up Mount Treglav. Their ashes belong to the earth now, she thinks, stricken with grief, and still, her heart beats. For ninety years it has now, and she can feel the clockwork slowing, until, inevitably, something must give.

“Happy birthday, baka!” says Andrea, her round face already burning up in the sun. She's in her bathing suit but hasn't dared put more than a toe into the freezing water. “Is it as you imagined?”

Lucija smiles and caresses the little girl's dark hair. “It is, my dear. Thank you all so much.”

“This isn't all, mama,” says Kristijan, struggling with the tent's poles. “You'll see tomorrow.”

“I hope you don't expect me to climb up there.” She nods toward the grey mountain range, to which she’ll forever be bound by memory and loss.

They laugh. “We wouldn't dare,” says Sofija, putting a hand on her husband's shoulder. “You're too heavy to carry, Lucija.”

---

In the evening, they sit under the stars, drinking tea and eating grah soup. Andrea complains, as she always does when her father makes the hearty broth of beans and onions, but still, she gobbles the food like a hungry little wolf, sprinkling the table with fatty liquid. The traditional recipe calls for pork ribs, Lucija remembers, but there hasn't been a live pig in years. She remembers how controversial her grandfather's vegetarianism had been back in the day and smiles at the absurdity of it all.

“You alright, Lucija?” asks Sofija. She had tried helping her husband, but cooking has always been Kristijan's domain, and he could be quite pedantic about it.

“Of course, dear. Why shouldn't I be?”

“Your eyes," she says. "They don’t look happy.”

Lucija sighs. “I'm just tired, don't you worry. Wait till you're ninety, and then you’ll see how it feels.”

Kristijan comes over with an inconspicuous half-full glass bottle. The label says ‘mineral water,’ but as soon as he removes the cap, the strong, biting smell of alcohol penetrates the crisp evening air. Lucija smiles. Andrea is fast asleep in the tent, and he pours them three shots of rakija. They gulp it down together, and, for a moment, everything burns, until a soothing warmth spreads in their bellies. Lucija calls for another one — this stuff is better than any pill. They drink it down, grimacing and groaning like teenagers.

“I can't imagine what it must have been like,” Sofija says. “The things you've seen, Lucija... Rain forests, glaciers, icebergs, penguins, elephants... It must have been a different world.”

“It was, dear.” Lucija feels the rakija doing its work. In her younger days, she could have emptied that bottle all by herself, but now she feels her head spinning already. “But I've also watched it die and did nothing. There was death all around me, and I chose to ignore it. I've lived my life in an office, Sofija, staring at a screen and doing useless work for others while the world went to hell.”

“Hey, mama, don't talk like that. You did well.” Kristijan looks at her, and there's an intensity in his eyes. “Besides, not everything is dead. There's still hope. We will rebuild.”

She wants to say that as a climate scientist, he must think that — is compelled to think that — but bites her tongue. What purpose would her cynicism serve now? Her time is over. Let the younger generations try at least. Let them dream, for as long as they can, in this world she and her like destroyed.

---

“Wake up, mama.”

Lucija opens her eyes to find Kristijan standing over her. It's still dark outside, and she's disoriented and groggy. The memories of last night's conversation come flooding back, and she feels a pang of regret. Damn that rakija.

“Morning,” she whispers, pushing herself up. Sofija and Andrea are still fast asleep.

Kristijan hands her a steaming cup of coffee. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” she lies, taking a sip of the bitter liquid. “Why did you wake me?”

“Drink your coffee, put on some warm clothes, and then we'll go for a walk, mama. Just you and me.”

She follows Kristijan outside, feeling a chill in the air. The sun hasn't risen yet, but a streak of pink has appeared on the horizon, slowly reaching up. The sound of wind-driven waves lapping against the lake's shores fills her ears.

“Where are we going, Kristijan? You know I can't walk for long and —”

“Don't worry, mama. We're taking the glider.”

They reach the flat meadow where they'd landed the day before. The glider rests in stark contrast to the surrounding landscape, its solar skin glinting in the early light. A strange, foreign contraption, almost alien. Lucija had been hesitant about taking it to come up here — how much metal is in that thing? How many resources, rare earths extruded violently from the ground? How many working hours? Such a grandiose waste, all of it, she thought — but Kristijan had convinced her that she couldn't have made the journey otherwise.

“The batteries should be full,” he says. “It was sunny yesterday.”

He helps her inside, strapping her in with care and making sure she's comfortable. Then he climbs into the cockpit and, seconds later, the glider takes off with barely a whisper. Soon, they're soaring above the shrubbery, the mountains stretching out in the distance.

Lucija feels that sense of weightlessness and freedom again, the same that had carried that falcon over Mount Treglav so many years ago, but it feels artificial and unnatural. Another attempt at becoming more than they deserve. Kristijan doesn't notice. He appears cheerful, pointing out mountains, lakes, and rivers, explaining their significance, how they'd formed, and what would become of them in millions and billions of years, when they'd be all that's left.

How can he be so... cheerful? And when did she become so bitter?

“And you know that peak, of course,” he says, pointing. And she does. How could she not? She remembers her grandfather's ashes scattering in the cold, biting wind, and Nikola at her side. She grips the edges of her seat, her hands white as death.

“It's alright, mama,” he says, squeezing her hand. “We're not going there. We're going further.”

The glider rises until the world loses color, and then still they rise, breaking through the clouds with brilliant, warm light flooding the cockpit. It's blinding, disorienting, nauseating, but also so very exhilarating. Lucija can't help laughing. To her side, Kristijan is whooping with joy, and soon she joins in.

What beauty and terror, she thinks, what insignificance in the face of the grand, the preposterousness to think themselves death. What are we, in the passing of the uncounted eons, in the vastness of the mountains and the oceans, the eternity of the sun? A blip, a curious anomaly, soon forgotten. And from all that grandiosity is born the small and the weak, and if you cannot protect and cherish that, then all else falls as well.

“Mama,” he says. “We're almost there.”

There's another great mountain range ahead, its peaks white and ragged and glassy in the sun. They reflect with such brilliance that Lucija has to avert her eyes.

“The Planička Range,” Kristijan explains. “The highest mountains in this part of the world.” He hesitates. “It's where I have worked for the last eleven years.”

She’s surprised. “I thought you worked at the university?”

“I do, mama. This is part of the project. Sofija works here too. In fact, it’s our home now. There's even a school for Andrea.”

“What project? What are you talking about, Kristijan?”

He just smiles. “You'll see.”

They fly in silence, among the mountain peaks and clouds, so close she can almost touch the ice, and to her right, she sees something incredible. It looks like an array of drones, but the patterns they form, seemingly shifting at random, are far too intricate, far too... alive.

“I-Is that...?”

“Yes, mama. Birds. They're back.”

“But how? I thought —”

“I'll explain when we get there.”

They leave the mountains behind and watch a striking vista of green opening up. An endless carpet of trees, crisscrossed by brooks and streams, speckled with ponds. The glider approaches a clearing to the west, not far from the mountain range that guards this valley like a row of giants.

“Do you remember when the governments fell, mama?”

“Of course. You were just a boy, but your father and I were right in the midst. I remember when they stopped counting the dead. One day, they'd say a billion, the next, two billion, and then they went silent.” She turns to him. “Kristijan, where are you taking me?”

He lands the glider and helps her out. They walk along a narrow trail lined by trees and bushes. There are flowers in the grass, and the air is thick and sweet. Pollen swirls in the breeze, tickling their nostrils and making their eyes itch.

“Many of the universities held out when everything went to hell, mama, and they stayed in contact with each other. What you see here” — he spreads his arms — “is the greatest conservation effort in history.”

They arrive at what looks like a village. A neat cluster of wooden houses, simple and rustic, yet elegant. People are scuttling about, young and old, from all around the world. Lucija recognizes at least ten different languages, and they turn to her with curiosity.

“This is our home,” Kristijan says. “And we want you to live here with us. We call it Sloboda.”

“Freedom? Why?”

“Because it's exactly that.” He walks ahead and turns to her. “Come on, mama.”

They scramble up a grassy hill, Kristijan holding her arm. The ground is slippery and treacherous. It must have rained not long ago.

“How is this possible?” she asks, out of breath. “The world is dying.”

“It's not, mama. Well, not anymore. Most of it is already dead, but now it's changing, too. As it has for billions of years.” He thinks for a moment. “You know about that seed vault in Svalbard, right?”

“The one they blew up?”

“Yes. This is the same thing but with living specimens. We've collected and preserved as many as we could and set the most resistant, the most suitable to this climate, free. They've been transforming this area for a while now, and some things have survived. Some animals managed to thrive. The birds you saw, and small mammals like rabbits and rodents. Snakes and frogs, too, and countless insects. It’s all highly volatile and unstable, but we dare not interfere anymore. We just let it take its own path and observe.”

She halts, disbelief and a flicker of anger on her face. “Kristijan. Why didn't you tell me?”

He sighs. “I'm sorry, mama. It was too dangerous, too uncertain. We moved here just a year ago, after making absolutely certain the ecosystem could handle it. We're experimenting with surviving off the land, but it's all still in the early stages and our supplies are limited. Our food still arrives by drones, and we rely on external solar panel replacements and the like. There's still so much to do. Also,” his tone grows solemn, “there are groups that would exploit this. Few know about Sloboda, and it must stay this way until we are certain. Until we can help others.”

They continue walking. “It’s beautiful, son, it is, but you're just playing God again, that’s what you're doing.”

“Yes, mama, we are. We’ve always been. But God left a long time ago. If we do nothing, it'll take much, much longer.”

They climb in silence for a while, and there's so much Lucija wants to say, so many questions and concerns — the sheer arrogance, the elitism, everything. Instead, she says nothing, for there's nothing left to lose anyway, and there just might be a chance in what they’re doing here.

Soon, they reach the crest and recline on an improvised bench, little more than a couple of branches woven together. “It's not just about the world, mama,” he says. “It's also about us. We must find our way back while moving forward at the same time. It's hard and it might not work, but it's worth a try, I think.”

She remains silent, and he takes this for acceptance, or at least tolerance. It's enough.

From their vantage point, they can see the entire mountain range. Kristijan points. “Do you see it, mama?”

“What?”

“The glacier. Between Mount Dinara, over there, and Mount Volojak.”

“I see it.” She follows the broad white tongue meandering down the mountains and remembers her grandfather's story. How he fell into the crevasse and then scrambled out, all by himself, sheer willpower and resilience, and then climbed to Mount Treglav's summit. He’s still there, and Nikola too. “What about it, Kristijan?”

“It's growing, mama.”

“Growing? It's not growing, it's just —”

“It is. A couple of centimeters every year, for quite some time now.”

She’s stunned, speechless for a while. “How?”

He takes her hand. “It's changing, mama. Everything’s changing. Always.”

A bee buzzes past her ear and lands on a dandelion. The air crackles with static as a storm draws closer, anticipation building on the horizon. So it is, she thinks as lightning illuminates their tiny world for the briefest moment.

---

Thanks you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed this story.

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If you want to check out more of my dystopian fiction, read Cuba 2099, a vision of Cuban life in the far future; after warming and beyond industrial civilization:

Or, The Silence of the World, the disturbing diary of the last man on earth: