The gathering

Can a young newspaper boy sell his papers before the snowstorm consumes the city?

“Hey kid, go home before you get yourself killed!” A man yelled over the howling wind. Komiki huddled against one of the city’s numerous courtyard heaters, one arm held alof,t clutching a newspaper in his heavily mittened hand while a few more were tucked under his other arm.
Komiki grimaced as the wind whipped into his face. Cold and biting. He licked his lips as he shook his head then motioned for the man to buy a newspaper. The man continued to walk, ignoring Komiki’s offer and faded into the mounting fury. Komiki knew he couldn’t leave. Two weeks ago his ma told him and his siblings that their Pa went missing in the mines. He didn’t want to believe it, of course, but he started to think about it. Mining for gold in the Dennaakde mountains was hard and brutal. When his Pa would visit a few times out of the year, he would explain to them the back-breaking work he would do to try and search for the elusive mineral that could lift the family out of poverty and into a comfortable life.

He heard from other newsboys earlier that day that a blizzard was headed their way. Now it appeared that it was almost upon the city as the wind gusted down the roads and swirled into the large courtyard. The heater surrounding him on the small platform let out sputtering puffs of smoke and steam as the fire beneath the platform heated the radiators. Ice was creeping across the surface. Komiki leaned against one side, feeling the heat dwindling.
He was determined to stay out there until he sold every last newspaper. He wasn’t going to let his family down.
A group of women heavily wrapped in skins and flapping dresses briskly walked past. Komiki called out to them, motioning towards the newspaper in his hand that threatened to get yanked from his fingers. One of them looked up and at the paper. She took a few steps back as if shocked, then continued forward in her small group. Komiki let out a sigh, his breath coming out in a puff of white.

As if with a great heave, the heater beneath his feet went cold. The radiators in moments were beginning to ice over. Komiki felt his throat tighten. That was his only source of heat. He felt his feet and fingers begin to feel the chill. His mother didn’t have enough funds to supply him with the best furs and wool. He raised his newspaper high and began to yell trying to get anyone to purchase the newspaper.
Fewer and fewer people and creatures were about. Most ignored him as they sought shelter, others yelled at him but their words were snatched away by the howling wind. Komiki lost the battle of holding his newspaper as it was ripped from his fingers and fluttered away. Komiki watched it vanish down the street. Maybe he was being a fool.

In the swirling currents of snow, a figure appeared astride a mighty Inmunnet horse. He was covered in Shvlakas. The small creatures scurried all over the imposing figure. Komiki quickly picked up another newspaper as the man quietly approached. He peered at Komiki through thick layers of wool and snow. After a moment, he lifted up the newspaper that escaped Komiki as he moved closer until he was right next to him, heat emanated from the shaggy horse.

“I would like to purchase one.” the man stated, withdrawing a coin from a hidden pouch and slipping it into Komiki’s covered hand. Komiki swallowed, then thanked him, tucking it into a pocket. After the man straightened, he seemed to say something to the furry white creatures that perched all over him. As one, they suddenly leaped upon Komiki and began settling on his shoulders, feet, and head. He felt their heat soak into him, warming him. It gave him a wealth of new strength.

The man moved his mount to the side as more men appeared riding similar horses. Komiki realized they were gunslingers; men, and women of the deep wilds who upheld justice in places where few roamed. Komiki watched in awe as they filed past, each one asking for a newspaper which they quickly stuffed into their bulging fur coats.

The snow started to pelt Komiki making it difficult to see as it stung at his eyes and cheeks. He handed his last newspaper to a large man, then watched the legendary gunslingers vanish into the storm,except for the first one who still had his mount, standing next to the platform. He looked at Komiki, then extended a hand yelled, “I’ll take you home. I have one more errand to run.”
Komiki stared at him a moment. It wasn’t every day a gunslinger offered a ride to a simple newsboy. He quickly approached then let the man help him onto his horse as the little Shvlaka scrambled onto the man’s massive shoulders and head.

It took them a while to find Komiki’s house as the storm made it nearly impossible for them to see. Thankfully Komiki was warm and safe. When they finally found Komiki’s home which was more of a hovel they both dismounted.

“Thank you.” Komiki grinned, his ice-crusted scarf brushed up against his chin. The man blinked slowly then gently lifted one of the Shvlaka off his shoulder and placed it into Komiki’s hands saying, “he’s a good Shvlaka, he will keep you company and give you warmth.” He took a step back. Komiki thanked him then turned and opened the door.

“wait. Do you know anyone by the name of Minsly Kitika?”
Komiki knew immediately.

“That’s my ma!”

“This is for her.” The gunslinger stated, slipping a piece of paper from another secret place in his coat and handed it to Komiki. He looked down at it, flipping it over. The bold handwriting said one name, a name that caused his heart to leap for joy.
“It’s from my Pa!”