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Seventh Chapter

An inferno of terror

*

Girls are stupid.

Despite pondering on what had happened this evening with Becka and Lyra, Cinnabar could not come up with a better explanation to rationalise the events that had happened. It could not possibly be his fault that Lyra tried to tease him in order to accrue his friendship. If she pursued a friendly relationship with him, would not the prudent manner to show respect for his integrity?

What was painful was that he loved Lyra. And what worse, it wasn't like he didn't have competition. Callisthenes Hassla and Adrian Róse had both been competing for her interest. She was the bright white jewel amongst the females of her generation. And who was more worthy to get her undivided adoration than Cinnabar Rusk?

As for Becka, he felt nothing but loathing_for her. He could not figure out what her motivations were. He still _strongly suspected that she in some way was in cahoots with the Enemy. Also, it felt like she had stolen his best friend from him. His only friend as matter of fact. He felt alone and rejected, and the humiliation of being physically dominated by the sailors still burnt in his chest like bitter and heavy pieces of coal.

He tried to sleep, and from time to time, he did manage to fall into a troubled slumber - always interrupted by sudden sounds, people climbing over him or angry voices arguing amongst the displaced Ruskebóites. At the end he simply gave up - they would be in Glennenmór in the late hours anyway.

He could get his sleep there.

Turning around, he removed the lid of the cylinder-shaped canister, taking out Quothinos' chronicle. He decided to read about the reign of Bard-Voiced Elladan, the first High King of the Elven Age and the glory of once-great Aëllea, the city with seventy-seven golden spires at the Lake Lyar. There, white-haired Elladan had extended his fair rule over the twelve Cathaëlian tribes, until the thirteenth tribe - the Zirian exiles - under the leadership of Caël Dragonslayer had him overthrown.

His thoughts wandered towards the invasion that his land had endured, and as his eyes and fingers traced the letters on the parchment scroll, he reminisced about his own experiences now. Did the wars of forlorn days used to be like this? With all the uncertainty, terror, fear and horror, all the blood, shit and tears? When he had read about the ancient wars amongst the Elves, he had gotten the impression that they were exciting adventures, when great heroes battled amongst themselves, assembling glory and hymns to live on as legends. Of course, 'the humble narrator' Quothinos had mentioned how entire cities were destroyed - some at the blink of a moment, especially during Caël's Invasion.

The Flower Valley needs a hero, Cinnabar thought.

Maybe I should become that hero. Yes! Why not? Was this current condition really worthy of a Rusk? Packed in a ship like a pathetic carrot? A refugee with his tails between his legs? Oh no, the very thought made him boiling with resent. During times of great crisis, great leaders emerged.

Was he destined to become such a great leader?

He believed so. His knowledge and talents were wasted on Ruskebó during peace-time. He had been like an rlangen-traversing ferry stuck on a stony hill there. Why couldn't he assemble the leadership over the clans, and then establish a new strategy against the 'strafers' - what the Rim Guard called the silver birds?

Cinnabar Rusk, the Liberator, the Great, the Conqueror. He wandered through a future which he feverishly formed inside his mind. A glorious future indeed. The military situation, historians would say, was untenable. The Republic's ill-equipped and small army was routed on all fronts by the strafers and their troll allies. Then, from the teeming desperate masses, one leader was elevated. Like Mathyn, he had been anointed by the Goddess to deliver Her people back to the Promised Land. Like Anton, he would command the Leporian Nation behind him, uniting everyone behind one goal.

This war was for their survival. The Republic was too weak and would need to be reformed or abolished.

Cinnabar imagined himself transforming Leporian society. The clans, these relics of the past, would be abolished completely now. Every Leporian should be devoted primarily to the Flower Valley, not to their little local districts or their petty clan feuds. The Republic, this weak and effeminate government consisting of day-to-day-chatter, gossip and intrigue, would be given way to a new government, a better government.

The Second Leporian Kingdom of the Flower Valley. Headed by King - no, Emperor - Cinnabar the First, with his wonderful Empress Lyra by his side. He imagined forging a crown, consisting of twenty-one stars, one for every district. The people would love and adore him, everyone finally seeing him for his true nature - a saviour and liberator. They would compose innumerable songs to his honour; raise giant wooden statues of him. He even imagined that they could carve his face in a giant version on the eastern side of the Rim, so he - long after having lived a life of glory - still could guard his beloved people as centuries and millennia passed by.

After having liberated the Flower Valley from the strafers and the trolls, Emperor Cinnabar I Rusk led his army of sixty thousand Leporians out from the Flower Valley. He conquered and smashed the Canaeans, the Lucaeans and the Mustelans, gaining their submission and breaking them forever. His Empire rivalled the size of the ancient Elven King Japhaël, stretching ten thousand leagues from the west to the east and five thousand from the north to the south. The Leporian Empire came to become a turning-point in the history of all Ayrien, and came to impose an iron order of peace, security and prosperity for a thousand generations, it...

Cinnabar felt something repeatedly touch his shoulder. He turned around, reluctantly moving away from his glorious visions for the future. He looked up, finding a strangely shining insect, butterfly- or moth-like and with four triangular wings stretching out from its small, metal-like body. He recognised it from two days ago... if it now was the same. The pattern was however identical.

"Hello little one," Cinnabar whispered. "Are you the only friend that I have left?"

The insect buzzed around in a jerking way, as if it was tired. It briefly landed on Cinnabar's head before moving away, slow but still faster than he could react. It flew around in circles, towards the staircase leading away up from the deck. Cinnabar took the lid of the canister and then moved past the sleeping and resting Leporians, following the little strange animal up towards the open sky.

Luckily, the insect moved towards the fore of the ferry, swirling around a little before landing at rest on the wooden gunwale. For a long moment, Cinnabar stood there and just watched the beauty of the insect. It had folded the wings, forming a diamond-shaped shell. In the light of the summer night Sun, it glowed in gold and red, so much that the eyes almost hurt.

"You are very beautiful," Cinnabar said. The insect fluttered a little with its wings and let out a buzzing, spinning noise. It seemed to appreciate flattery, and that made Cinnabar feel bad - for having originally planned to impale it on a needle and present it for Lyra. And wouldn't it be more impressive for her alive?

"Cinnabar Rusk," he said. "Me that is. I am six years old - how old are you?"

"Brrrrrrrrrrrr," the insect replied, stretching out half of its shining legs so it stood leaning, turning its lidless black eye towards him.

"Yes, you do look weird. I'm not going to hurt you... I just want to know, what are you, little one?"

He could have sworn the eye blinked for a moment. He leant out with his elbows over the gunwale, looking out over the calm waters. The insect followed him, creeping close to his elbow. A few clouds had appeared in the south, but the skies were still mostly clear. The Sun, now moving towards the east, blessed the waters with its rays so they glowed in red. Above them, the black silhouettes of an armada floated. On Cinnabar's right side, a large piece of land covered in trees, flat rolling fields and black rocks was visible in the night light.

"Langen Island," he told the little critter. "Home to the Lange Clan. It is said that a one-eyed giant dwelled there, but that Mark Lange 'Longshanks' blinded the giant and tricked him to fall into the waters of rlangen. Then he claimed the island for himself, building the town of Langebó and becoming the founder of the Lange clan. Look, there is Langebó.

Cinnabar pointed towards a town located atop a black cliff, consisting of rectangular staircase colonies, lush trees growing all around it. The insect flew up, circling a bit over the water before landing on Cinnabar's hand.

"Langebó is famous for its yellow apples. They conserve the apples for every autumn harvest, using sap and acids fermented from blueberries. And then they put them in barrels and send them to all communities around rlangen. There is a song... called 'The Lange apples are raining like fallen stars'. I don't like it, but it's sung during all autumn feasts."

The insect hummed as Cinnabar's eyes moved towards the armada, a dozen or so ferries shipping internally displaced Leporians towards the safety of Glennenmór, their wheels steadily trampling the water and propelling them forward on the calm waters. Cinnabar turned around, resting his shoulders on the rail. It creaked, but he had full confidence in its steadiness.

"My people," he nodded towards the Leporians who lied scattered around, sleeping on the deck or talking and playing games, "have suffered a terribly indignity today. And many more are still suffering, for even if all ferries should ship people from the affected districts, still a ferry can only carry four hundred each, and there are tens of thousands in the districts attacked."

He could hear a loud scream from the stern, but his sight there was shielded by the captain's tower. Sighing, he turned back towards the insect.

"No," he said, "I won't go there. It's stupid Becka Sommer. For some reason, my best friend - or so he used to be - is crazy about her. Us between, I suspect her of being an Enemy spy. She arrived the very same day that the war broke loose. No one had seen her before, nor have anyone seen Owin leave the shop to her. Who knows, maybe she murdered Owin? She has put us through terrible risks, and seems to be stalking us."

The insect buzzed inquisitively, flying around before Cinnabar's eyes.

"Yes," Cinnabar said, "you're right, my little friend. When I arrive in Glennenmór, I must report her to the authorities. Regrettably, I don't think they'll arrest her. But maybe they can make it more difficult for her to serve the Enemy? Don't you think that?"

He sighed and looked up towards the east. A few purple clouds moved around the Rim, blurring in towards the soft night skies. Naeria, which the Leporians called Sapphire Haze, stood to three fifths above the mountains, shining clear blue. He sighed, wondering whether he should go back to bed, and try to sleep for the last two hours...

Turning around, preparing to leave, he said goodnight to the insect - maybe he should name it 'the Creaker'? - and started to walk down to the trapdoor. Then he suddenly saw something grow at the corner of his eye. Looking towards the eastern shores, beyond the armada of refugee ships which slowly treaded south, Cinnabar saw a pattern on the sky emerge, like sunlight filtered through rain though yet different.

The pattern expanded in scope and width, and he could discern several metalloid bodies glide through the sky in a perfect fractal formation. His heart jumped. Oh Goddess, not good...

They stopped far above the armada, staying immobile in the air. They were farther above than tree-tops would have been. Three were larger, elongated like dragon-flies and with appendages hanging from their bellies. The others were the smaller ones - the strafers. They glowed reddish in the light, the rays hitting their wings so their shapes were difficult to sense.

There were at least forty-fifty of them suspended above the armada. The rescue fleet were moving at a tight formation, around eighty feet between every ship. Cinnabar suspected that was deliberate - the ships farther back the spearhead formation would utilise the currents created by those further ahead, thus serving to increase their speed.

Cinnabar started to wave his arms, screaming. "Take cover and prepare the rafts! W_e're being attacked_!"

The uppermost deck was in turmoil as dozens of Leporians ran around, waking both their loved ones and complete strangers, trying to help the elders or the small ones. Cinnabar jumped over the trap door, smacking into the head of someone looking up, before moving towards the captain's tower. He moved up the external rope ladder, trying to get up to warn the captain of these things.

The very large silver bird which trailed the ferry slowly released one of the things which were attached below its underside. It glimmered in the air, a falling egg shifting in nuances of gold, red, burble, blue and black as it fell down beside the ship, disappearing behind the gunwale and down into the dark waters of rlangen.

Phew... a near miss...

Cinnabar's ear drums rocked when the ship shook. Losing his grip on both arms, he wavered around half-way up the wooden tower, which for a moment almost seemed to lean diagonally. He threw his face around, seeing that the left wheel of the ship pointed upward, next to a giant pillar of water which rose up to twenty feet into the air, before dissolving and falling down like hard rain, smattering against the ships. The drips smattered over his face. When he opened his eyes again, he found the Creaker hovering around his face, almost as if it ensured that he was safe.

The ferry fell back, throwing Cinnabar in the opposite direction. If he had lost his grip of the ladder, he would have fallen in the opposite direction. A horn sang above from the tower, giving out seven blows - the signal that the ship had been attacked. Cinnabar started to climb down again - he wasn't needed after all now when everyone knew.

As his feet made contact with the wood again, he saw how the enemy formation above had broken up, moving down in several spirals. He screamed and rushed forward to the gunwale, seeing how five strafers closed in on the nearest ship to the left. They danced over the deck before moving up - tailing one another - around the captain's cabin.

They turned red, and the uppermost side of the cabin-tower exploded - raining down splinters and blood. A large shadow fell over him, and he stared up in terror as he saw the large egg-laying strafer-like creature sink down. It had six wings, two of which pointed straight out at its sides. Instead of a mouth-less nose cone, it had a gap with six metal mandibles closing in together, each shining like flames.

It retracted them, leaving open a perversely round mouth, empty and with line after line of metallic teeth inside. It readjusted itself, so it pointed straight towards Cinnabar. He could see a metallic tongue creeping out, slowly. At the tip of it, a metalloid spider was attached, almost crystalline in its appearance, with eight claw-like legs and an unreflective black eye at the front...

Poker pushed him aside.

"What are you doing, fatso!? Take cover!"

The jagged sailor aimed with a slingshot, shooting away a stone pellet. He aimed for the eye of the spider, but the pellet hit the mandibles which quickly reappeared. The stone ricocheted away and the creature dropped its other egg. Cinnabar could see it fall down into the still rippling waters.

A green light emerged from the black depths together with a loud and deafening bang. Then the water turned green as millions of bubbles soared to the surface, shielding a glowing sphere which transformed into a circle. A pillar of water engulfed the monster, and it gave out a loud squeak before ascending towards the sky. The Grand Old Pike rocked once again up on its left side, Cinnabar lost his grip, tumbling down helplessly and only stopping at the gunwale on the opposite side.

As the ferry returned to its normal position, he sat up, massaging his aching head. Standing up, he could see how groups of strafers peacefully scoured around the waters, turning against the other ferries in pack. Some of the ferries had unleashed their escape rafts, designed to carry seven Leporians to safety. Now they were carrying more than ten each, frantically paddling the waves.

Captain Marja Wassén swaggered straight over the abandoned deck, dark-brown-furred with black speckles all over. She was chewing on tobacco and garbed with a blue jacket with red insignia. Around her were five people from the crew, amongst them Becka Sommer. She looked completely calm, moving forward with relaxed shoulders.

Poker shouted in a speaker's horn, from which a hose led down to the lower decks. "Friends! Your captain has a few words to tell you!"

Marja took the horn. Her voice was clear and authoritative. Their ship started to turn left.

"Citizens of Ruskebó! You should all wake up and act calmly. The convoy is under attack. I repeat. The convoy is under attack. What I want you to do is to move under the stern. There you will find the door with the crane. There are ten life rafts. The crew will connect the life rafts to the tackles of the hook of the crane, and then lower..," a cloud of fire arose from one of the ferries in the rear of the convoy, "...then lower the rafts to the surface. You will climb into the rafts while they're being lowered..."

Cinnabar's nostrils widened. He rushed forward to the captain, pushing her aside before Poker - the only one remaining there amongst the crew members - could react.

"DON'T LISTEN TO HER!" he shouted in the dropped horn, and shuddered when pain exploded in his ears. Poker tried to restrain him, but he continued holding on to the horn. "It is a death-trap! Flee down to the lower sides of the ship, keep yourselves as far in as possible, and pray to the Goddess!"

"What are you doing, you insane kid!" Marja Wassén yelled at him.

At the same time, one of the rafts floating to the right of the Grand Old Pike was assailed by three strafers. With horror, Cinnabar, Poker and captain Marja, all three freezing in their struggle over the horn, saw how the silvery birds swirled over it, and all the passengers on it were immediately exploding, cascading limbs and organs around. All that remained was a heap of fur, flesh and bone parts, floating over the unruly surface of the lake's water.

At their left, the ferry which first had lost its captain's tower was visited by one of the larger silver birds. It must have had at least thirteen feet between its wingtips. Even though the ferry was still larger, it looked puny under the terrible shining sky-beast. Cinnabar could not see when it dropped its egg right into the trap-door of the ferry.

The monster was already ascending again when the ferry exploded in a mushroom cloud of fire. Smoulders and splinters rained down over the water and over at least three other ferries, amongst them the Grand Old Pike.

"The Waterbunny!" Poker let out.

One of the passengers, a tall female with round glasses, moved close to them. "How many dead?" she panted.

The captain turned around to her. "There were four hundred and twenty-two on that ferry I think. Not counting the crew."

They watched in silence towards where the Waterbunny had floated. All which remained were two giant wooden wheels popping around in the water on either sides of an ash-like pillar of smoke that slowly was choked by the water. Slowly the Grand Old Pike turned towards where the Water Bunny had been.

"Poker?" Marja inquired.

"Yes, captain?" Poker wondered.

"Why are we moving left?"

Cinnabar turned toward the right side of the ship. He ran towards there. Next to the rail, he found none other than Arthur, sitting and shivering. He grabbed his friend's shoulders, looking him into the eyes.

"Art! Arthur Rusk! Are you alright?"

Arthur's lower jaw shivered nervously. Another ferry exploded, this time on their right side, cascading wooden planks around. The remnant of it slowly sank while the wheels popped around in the water, almost as if they were happy.

"Arthur!" Cinnabar let out again, giving his best friend a smack over the cheek. "ARTHUR! WHY ARE YOU NOT DOWN THERE?"

Arthur's face broke up. He started to cry, helplessly. "I... I... I... I..," was all he could say. Cinnabar moved his arms around him, holding him close. Arthur let out a sullen scream of complete agony.

"Arthur," Cinnabar whispered, "we're going to persevere, we must..."

A third ferry blew up, this one behind them, as they moved right east and started to turn north.

*

Becka had recognised Cinnabar's voice echo through the horn attached to the wall in the evacuation room. She and Rosinde had staffed the cranks of the crane when he had shouted through the system to stop the evacuation.

"He is crazy!" Rosinde had shouted over the murmur of the assembled passengers. "Ignore him!"

Becka looked out over the opened back door of the ferry as the crane slowly moved out of it. She could see three ferries behind them, and at least ten escape rafts filled with Leporian families. They would try to evacuate to the nearest piece of land, the Lange Island.

She and her mate continued to roll the cranks, the crane emerging out the end of the Grand Old Pike. The raft, attached with tackles from all its four corners to a hook, swung gently in the air. With gentle steps, Becka bounced toward the back of the room, running over the barred floor seeing the runners beneath her.

This assignment turned exciting immediately, she thought. She could never have _imagined_this much could happen on a ferry - but then this day had been very eventful. She rolled the wheeled staircase forward, doing it calmly so every movement was performed correctly when she put in its brakes and connected it to the floor while cocking the wheels.

"When are we leaving!?" an elder male winced. "We are trapped here!"

Becka brushed her hair away from her forehead. The faces turned against them were sleep-deprived, desperate, many tormented too - having already lost numerous loved ones. The male stomped on the floor.

"We need to get aboard this now!" he complained.

"It won't go faster," Becka explained, "for you anyway. Captain has ordered that mothers with small children are going first. So please move back in line, Good Mr..."

"But I must get off this ship!"

Rosinde gripped the male in the neck of his tunic and pushed him back with a fist over his snout. Becka continued preparing the stairs, and then climbed up on them, feeling if the raft was safely connected. It was. She jumped down on the deck again, holding her hand to one of the stair-steps.

"So! This did not take too long, did it? Now I want you make way for the mothers with their children. So, so, fine order thanks!"

A little-one was crying. Becka leant down, her hands on her knees.

"What's the matter?" Becka wondered.

"Mommy... Mommy is gone... gone in Ruskebó! Big bad shinies took her!"

Becka gave a tender hug to the little girl, stroking her back. "We're not going to Glennenmór anymore," she said. "We're going to the Lange Island! Isn't that exciting? I've heard they have sweet, wonderful clover fields and apple crops there!"

It was then that a loud shriek was heard from the crowd, followed by more. They were pointing at the opened stern gate and beyond, to the waves. Becka turned her head around fast enough to see how the dragonfly-like strafers dived down while spinning their shiny wings around, right against a raft. The escapees dived down on their bellies, protecting their little-ones.

A few jumped overboard.

The rest exploded in pieces, almost like the Thief piñatas that the youths took turn shooting stones at during the harvest feasts back in Hasselbó. How mean, Becka thought. Blowing up all the mothers, and their little-ones! And we who've worked so hard with this crane... all for nothing.

She moved down, starting to unlock the wheels of the staircase, disconnecting it from the raft and the floor, readjusted the wheel axis...

Rosinde interjected. She had run away from the crane, stopping Becka as she was rolling back the staircase. Her eyes were big and brown, her jaw had dropped.

"What are you doing, disciple!? You'll get flogged for this! Contradicting captain's order!"

Becka was dumbfounded. "But Rosinde, we _can't_lower the rafts now for the little-ones. I don't want to give little-ones to the strafers just so they can blow them up like piñatas! For what good is that?"

She shrugged her shoulders, giving Rosinde a little smile, so Rosinde would see that Becka was right.

"But we must obey our orders!"

"LISTEN! LISTEN!" they heard Marja's voice. "CEASE THE EVACUATION! CEASE THE EVACUATION! THE ENEMY IS TARGETING THE ESCAPE RAFTS!"

"What should we do now!?" one of the elder does cried out.

Rosinde turned around to her, as she staffed the crane. "Pray I guess. Becka, help me with the crane!"

Poker came running on all four through the deck, starry-eyed and with a pulsating chest. His beautiful bone-ring, which he had won in a sailing contest once, dangled frantically from his ear.

"Becka! I need you!"

"Is that captain's order?"

"It's mine. The right wheel has stopped spinning."

"Is it broken?"

"We don't know, but something probably got stuck in it!"

Becka smiled as they started to run. "Ah! Nothing more serious then?"

"It_is_ serious! We're being attacked by invulnerable ghosts from the Gods know what Hell! There's nothing we can do about them!"

There was a hint of panic in his voice, which made Becka a little disappointed, but also a bit wiser. Calm down, Poker, she thought. What was the fuss about really?

"Then," she said thoughtfully as they ran downstairs to the lowest deck, to the interior of the ship, "let us don't worry 'bout them, Poker? Let us deal with what we can do, fix the wheel."

Poker stopped and turned his eyes towards her. "Becka," he stated. "I love you! How can you be so unstirred?"

"Ah," Becka answered without answering, placing her hand on the tackles leading to the interior wheel. It was moving alright, though almost too smooth. She checked the others. All felt fine and moved alright.

"These are Ok!" she said, giving Poker an approving signal with her ears.

He responded in kind. They moved into the tunnel where the ropes moved around, between the inner walls and the outer hull, until they came towards the log which held the rolling wheels in their place. The wheels were detached from the log, which merely held them in their place. That was so the ferry could change direction.

The ropes moved normally, but the wheels barely moved at all, grinding very slowly. What worse was, the tackles were successively being worn down by grinding against the wood.

"Not good," Poker said.

"Something got stuck on the other side?"

They were already out back from the tunnel. They ran towards the treadmills, Poker signalling to the sailors treading the six mills to stop running. "Stop!" he shouted.

They did as he said.

"Our shift already over?" Jetter, a large Leporian male, grunted.

"Clog in the wheel!" Poker explained.

Gary whistled. "First we are assaulted, and now the wheel's clogged! Great way to begin a new year! Whiskers of the Goddess I say!"

Becka gave out a little laughter and wrinkled her nose. Goddess' whiskers! How clever!

"It's not like we can stay idle while the fleet is being sky-pelted by angry angels," Jetter protested and moved in a stick of chewed-out wood in his mouth.

"Doesn't make any good if you guys just trample around in circles either," Poker said. "Rest for a few minutes, you're doing a darn decent job and deserve it."

Jetter opened one side of his treadmill and stepped out, stretched his legs and took up a bit of tobacco from a table nearby.

"How many minutes, Poke?"

Poker held up three fingers, and then raced up towards the upper deck, trailed by Becka.

*

"One thing is clear," Poker said as he moved his wooden wattle in between the massive wheel that he stood on. "It's clear here. We must..."

Becka closed inhaled a breath into her lungs, spread her arms and fell backward into the water while moving her palms together above her head. The sky was brighter above now, and the light from the early morning Sun cut through the surface of the water when she opened her eyes.

At first, she found herself surrounded by wet darkness, engulfing her entire body. Then, as her eyes got used to rlangen's reality, she saw a world dimly illuminated by blue light. As far as she could see down, there was darkness. Above her head, a few feet up, she saw a surface shining like liquid gold. Beautiful, she thought.

Something moved towards her in tremendous speed. She moved into a defensive position, curling up her knees and holding her hands against her face. A minnow swam right into her, its tail-fin slapping behind it. It gave her a cold kiss before turning around. So you were just curious?

Becka stretched out her chest, swimming upward and cutting the surface water, breathing out and then in again, before submerging herself under the surface again. She had of course swum in the rlangen before, but always in or near the beaches. It wasn't so that she hadn't taken any risks - once she had tail-surfed with the help of a young pike - but she had never been so far away from land. This made it unknown... titillating and exciting.

Swimming around in a circle, she looked around, trying to localise the wheel. Far away, she could see a large black silhouette peacefully descending down into the darkness. For a moment, she recognised it was one of the ferries, blown into two pieces. She saw smaller shadows fanning up to the surface with their arms and legs. Then, from the depths, she saw them coming. Trouts. Chars. Pikes. They danced in the water, very much alike the strafer dragonflies, grabbing many of the survivors and dragging them down the depths. Becka became a bit sad - think, they've survived the big boom-boom, only to become fish food! What has it come of the world?

She turned around. The ferry was still evidently moving around, since she had to trail it. She moved alongside its right side, tracing its dark surface with her fingertips before she made contact with the wheel. She moved one of her arms in under the wheel, feeling if there was any branch or rock which had been stuck there. Nothing... nothing... wait, yes!

Becka grinned and blew out a little bubble from her nostrils triumphantly. What she felt was ragged, a little warm and soft. She continued to work it out, hanging from underneath the wheel, sensing the immense depths beneath her.

Releasing her feet from the tails of the wheel and starting to swim up, Becka moved her right shoulder and head in between the hull and the wheel. Finally. She got grip of flailing fabric, and dragged it out. As she tugged it out until it was stop, she continued to feel around, tracing down the object. Eventually, her fingers met four other fingertips. She placed her thumb around the hand, feeling it. It was limp.

Becka realised that she had to breathe now, and was very proud that she had localised the problem. She cut the water surface next to the wheel, holding on to one of the wooden paddles of it. Blowing out a bit water, she found herself face to face with Poker.

"Phew!" he let out. "You had me worried for a moment! Did you find what clogs it?"

"Ah!" Becka smiled happily. "A person! They are wedged in next to the axis, and they're really stuck!"

"Good work, mate!" Poker grinned. He stretched out his hand. "Climb up, girl! The pikes have found out what happened!"

"I saw that too," Becka nodded, "but I'm not going away from here. Only we two together can... de-clog the wheel!"

"Are they stuck that good?"

"Yes. Give me your stick and I prep it for you!"

Poker leant down on his knees, stretching out his wattle. It was handily equipped with a copper hook at the pointy end.

"Thank you!" Becka exclaimed happily as she grabbed the poker and then submerged herself.

What she liked with Poker was that she did not need to explain things for him. He understood it anyway, as she could see him jump down on the other side of the wheel, bubbles bursting around his body as he descended down the darkness and then swam up again, right underneath the wheel.

He grabbed the arm of the unfortunate corpse who had gotten stuck and started to tug, while Becka swam out with her legs, holding on to the four-feet wattle. He placed her hands around the handle, located near the wide end of the stick. A sudden movement in the corner of her eyes made her turn around.

What looked like a pink forest of teeth swiftly approached her. She made a sanctimonious look and then smacked at the snout of the pike so it turned around, show-casing its brilliant green body to her. And large it was - almost five feet in length. The sunlight filtered through the water and hit the scales of the beast of the depths.

You are very beautiful, old Mr Pike. I'm sorry I had to smack you on the nose, but would you've preferred me poking out your eye?

She turned around, still wary about her back, and then looked Poker in the eyes. He nodded and tried to move his ears in the water. He had gotten hold of the body. Becka moved in, starting winkling in the darkness. Poker shook his head, and pointed upward.

They crossed the surface together, spurting out water from their mouths.

"Don't drag it, Becka. Push it."

Becka smiled. "Thanks for telling me, Poke! There are pikes around here - beautiful green pikes."

"Thanks for warning me, we're going down. This time I'm taking the wattle and you're dragging."

They did as he suggested. Becka grabbed the arm of the dead body, pulling it, while Poker swam close to the surface, pushing on it with the wattle. After around eighty seconds of work, the body started to move. Poker swam around, stroking Becka playfully over her shoulders before he took a little air. Then he moved the copper hook towards the body, got it stuck and together they pulled it until it came out with a soft sound, leaving a trail of blood.

The dead doe floated peacefully in the blue, her robe expanding and retracting like the slow dance of a jellyfish. The fur was ragged vanilla, the eyes yellowish brown but empty and hollow. The jaw was crushed on one side, and the head was bent in a manner that indicated a broken neck. Nevertheless, Becka recognised her - it had been that priestess from Ruskebó that had been poor little Artie's mother. Oh no, Becka felt, now he's aloneliest in the entire world!

Poker gave Becka the wattle and swam alongside the corpse. He grabbed her underneath the armpits and dragged her upward. Becka followed him. Once again they cut the water line together. The dead doe's nose and crushed lower jaw pointed upward as the rest of her head was still under the water surface. The head was hanging almost like a backpack over the spine. Her neck's broken.

"She was lucky," Poker said. "I feared she had gotten stuck there when she was alive. Then she would both have been drowned and grinded to death slowly. Not either or. Both."

"Ah," Becka nodded, "I recognise her."

"Me too," Poker said. "Horrible mother. She briefly made me happy to be orphaned."

"What shall we do with her?" Becka half-whispered.

"It's not up to us to decide. She must be presented before the closest relatives so they can identify her and arrange for the pyre ceremony. 'Chapter 18, Article 2 - the Sailor's Codex'."

"You can read?" Becka blubbered, her mouth under the water.

"You surprised? No, I can't... but I've memorised those rules... cause I've broken most of them," Poker winked and shrugged his shoulders. The corpse opened what was left of its mouth, letting out a little water.

"Still," Becka said. "I don't want to see Artie going through this. He's 'a bit funny-in-the-head' you know."

"Don't believe that one for a bit. This doe," he bounced with the Priestess's corpse, "was full of crowfoot."

"I dooooon't know," Becka smiled nervously. "He's so scared. You know, don't know if I'm allowed to tell you..."

"Then don't," Poker said, and started to paddle back towards the wheel, paddling with his feet. "Get up on the wheel, mate. Here, take here and we'll drag her up."

A strafer glided past them over the waters, the tips of its bottom pair of wings cutting the water surface. It did not mind them. Becka grabbed the corpse by the scruff, using the paddles of the wheel as a staircase, while Poker pushed.

Eventually, the body lied peacefully over the wooden wheel. Becka looked around at the wonderful early morning. The Sun had continued on its journey towards the east. Her eyes scanned over the waters. There were abandoned or broken rafts everywhere, but no bodies were floating around. The fish did not allow anything to waste.

She stretched out her hand towards Poker, holding it out. She nodded towards him invitingly.

"Becka he said," still swimming in the water.

"Yes Poker?" she innocently wondered.

"I've taken it that you like me?"

What was that for a question?

"Of course I like you, silly!" she purred.

He grinned widely. "I like you too. Very much... you are... well, special."

"I'm just me," she smiled and wrinkled her nose.

"Most girls..," he said, looking troubled, "...would have gotten into panic at any point when we did this. Not you. How come... you are so soft and... well, flimsy, yet as hard as flint?"

Oh Poker, why so funny questions?

"Ah," she giggled - a little bit embarrassed she had to admit. "I wonder why everyone gets all afraid and... OH-MY-GODDESS-WE'RE-GOING-TO-BE-EATEN... when people mostly need to be calm when things are like... well... hihihi... this!"

"I love you Becka, and want us to be together. Have you known a male before?"

"You know what," she said, "why can't people panic when it is all boring and calm days around them? Wouldn't it be fun, just running around the streets and fields, screaming and waving arms and behave all crazy?"

Poker swam around, forming a heart-shaped trace of foam behind him.

"Becka... do you want to, well - I'm sorry, I'm usually good at this - to you know... hang out in Glennenmór? Maybe we should take in at an inn together?"

"That sounds really fun!" Becka chirped. "And then we could go and eat some sugar beets with honey! And climb in the giant climbing tower!"

"All that, and much more. But before... I want to be honest to you, Becka. I have a lover, her name is Merit. She lives in Wahlenwik. She is fine with me meeting others. Are you?"

Becka's eyes turned big with astonishment. Did really big, hunky Poker need permission to meet with others?

"Ah... sure," Becka smiled nervously.

"I promise you won't regret this," Poker grinned and swam towards her, giving his hand to her. She gave him her most radiating smile, though she felt something was funny with his proposal.

"I'm sure I won't she said."

Poker's facial expression suddenly changed. His grin froze and turned to a tormented grimace. His eyes became large and bulgy. Becka felt something drag at the other end. Something far stronger than her.

"Help me..," Poker gritted in pain.

Then he slipped from Becka's grip, disappearing down into the dark depths.

*

She took the wattle and jumped from the wheel, just as it started to move again. Cutting through the surface and spying around, eventually she found her target. A large pike, possibly the same that she had hit before was cutting north at mediocre speed. Its jaws were locked around Poker's thighs - he was struggling to get loose by banging his fists against the snout of the monster. He was shaken around by the giant fish, bubbles burst out through his mouth.

Who you think you are, you big log with teeth?You could've eaten those who were blown to bits - yet you decide to take my friend! I will get you back, Poker!

Becka was right behind the pike now, grabbing its tail with her hand and held on to it. While she felt anger and worry, she could not help but feel that this was exciting. The largest pike she'd ever had tail-surfed before this had been three feet long and lived in the underwater reed forest near the beach of Hasselbó. This one was approaching double that length. Sadly, it was going in the wrong direction - north.

Attempting to bite it in the tail, she moved her jaws around it. Maybe it would release her friend then? It didn't. Instead it rocked the tail around so she lost her grip, tumbling around in the water before regaining her swimming posture. Also, the wattle was floating upward. She followed it, took a breath, grabbed it and continued down. The pike was descending now.

She traced it with her stick before her like a spear, moving above the back of the fish as it was going downward, deeper into the darkness. Believing she was around fifteen to twenty feet underneath the water, she could see Poker being jerked around like a trash doll, completely limp.

Maybe he's fainted,like Artie did back in Ruskebó...

Becka prepared the wattle, holding it like a lance as she moved right down into the darkness. Now, old Mr Pike, she thought, no more miss's Nice Girl! She moved the copper hook in behind the beast's eye. It jerked, and the flat eye popped loose, floating up. The pike turned straight down, releasing Becka's friend. He floated around peacefully in the blackness, stunned. She grabbed him under the armpits, dragging him up. When they cut the surface, she desperately inhaled air. Poker slept peacefully against her chest.

Pressing against Poker's tummy, he spewed up water. Becka gave him a smile. Everything is fine today Poker. We will go to the climbing mountain and eat sugar beets, and then we'll visit Merit in Wahlenwik and we can have a picnic in Merit's garden... Poker? Poker?

A possibility that she had not wanted to think about struck her. She laid the palm of her hand over his chest. Nothing... maybe a little... no nothing.

Becka sighed and lowered her head. Very sad, she thought. I liked you, had just learnt to know you. Now I'll have to say goodbye, Poker. Looking over her shoulder, she saw that the Grand Old Pike had moved three hundred feet further south. There was no sign of the strafers around.

She released her grip of her friend, closed his eyes gently and took his earring. She used his body as a way to push herself southward, tracing the ship with her slender arms cutting the surface. Soon enough, she climbed up at the side of the ship by climbing on the paddles of the wheel.

Captain Marja received a vocal report of what had happened. Becka gave her the earring, telling her to send it to 'Merit in Wahlenwik'. Then she went to sleep, feeling sadness in her heart, thinking of poor Poker, funny-in-the-head Arthur, now orphaned, Merit in Wahlenwik and the poor pike which had needlessly lost one eye... And she realised she needed to change job yet again.