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Tenth Chapter

Taste of blood

*

"I want you to know that I am very sorry, Artie," Claudia said as she gently brushed his hair with a comb. "My behaviour today was not befitting a mother. I had... I mean I have the right to be raging and raving." She threw an ice-cold stare at her sister, before returning her attention to her most recent child. "But I shouldn't have... I mean, I realise that I embarrassed myself today. And I know that you are very sensitive Arthur."

Arthur was... numb. He felt empty inside, his anger at Cinnabar had given way for a feeling of profound indifference. He vaguely recollected that the Flower Valley was in a war, but everything felt so unreal. Cautiously, he pinched his own arm underneath the blanket - so this wasn't a dream?

Caroline sighed. "You don't have to move, sister. Especially not now. Four thousand refugees arrived today at the East Entry. You would be foolish to try to find a tent when you always have a warm and welcoming bed here."

For a few moments, Arthur could see the muscles of Claudia's cheeks move around as if she was chewing, a struggle between mixed emotions, though he could not interpret what they were. She reminded a bit of his real mother - now dead and sunk to the bottom of the rlangen. That made him shudder and feel cold, so he wrapped the blanket closer around himself, lowering his head and making himself tiny. When Cynthia's face had been frozen in similar expressions, he knew from experience it would not take a long while before he would receive a slap over his head. So he kept a low, submissive profile.

He had not spoken for hours.

"We'll cope," Claudia replied.

Cornelia stood at the door, looking distraught as she guarded the window. The air in the apartment was claustrophobic, and a reign of silence had fallen over the room. Caroline had tried to offer them treats, but none were interested.

"I don't see," Caroline said, "why we shouldn't reconcile. I'm not angry at you sister... this is so unnecessary..."

"But I am," Claudia sighed, "upset with you. Why did you lend your credence to that bill?"

"Because nine Lilies voted with me."

"It did not need any Lilies. All but two Tulips voted for it. It would've passed anyway."

"Yes," Caroline said, gritting her incisors a little. "But you know this bill needed bipartisan support. We needed this compromise to avoid a military dictatorship."

Claudia crossed her arms. "Maybe we would _need_a military dictatorship at this point? I cannot see what differs a civilian dictatorship from a military one? At least I hold a higher trust in Haythorn than in Jazlene."

"Well... I... don't agree with you!" Caroline whined, crossing her arms too. "It is dangerous to let the military assume civilian powers. We wanted to ensure that the military obeys the government! This bill was the price for it..."

"Was it because of that that it was more far-reaching than the Military Emergency Programme? More... can I call it... daring?"

"I... I was against some of the repeals, but Irma said that otherwise the military would question the continued civilian government and we could get a coup..."

"Haythorn is coming back to Glennenmór for staff briefing," Claudia said, "who is to ensure he isn't going to make one?"

"Morgan Raval. The gendarmerie and a thousand of the local forces are loyal to him... and he and Irma Astis..."

"Oh_Goddess_!" Claudia let out. "Don't tell me that we're living in a pornocracy!"

"He is very sweet towards her! It isn't as you..."

"Enough! No, sister... the faster we're getting out of here, the better for all of us."

"But you have nowhere to go... other Rusks will ask why you don't stay with me, and the shelters will ask the same..."

"I rather sleep on the gutters!"

Caroline's eyes moved towards Cornelia and Arthur. "Your children then?" she asked. "Will... your pride and spite really sacrifice them at the altar of your ego?"

Claudia looked down, tightening her grip tighter around her chest, as if she was embracing herself. "We'll... we'll cope! Don't worry about us sister."

Cornelia took a step forward. "Maybe," she said, wetting her lips with her tongue, "maybe we should... move in at Robert's?"

"I beseech you, sister," Caroline pleaded, "stay with us, at least for this night. Find a new place to stay tomorrow... if you still want to. I will steam some artichoke stew with white carrots."

Arthur felt a sting of irritation within himself. Who cared? No matter what happened, he would be dragged around like a freaking ragdoll... never allowed to do what he wanted, impotent and powerless.

Claudia sighed. "Well... guess we're staying the night over. But I'm going to cook... I don't want to owe you, sister. I know you mean well, but I cannot bring myself into supporting your politics."

"Good," Caroline breathed out in a sigh of relief. "I won't want anyone to believe I am a miser for a host."

Cornelia suddenly moved towards the window, placing her hands on the frame and sniffing nervously.

"Dinner," she said and turned towards her mother. "How long time has Cindy been out now again?"

Arthur turned his back towards her demonstratively, curling himself up against the couch in a foetal position.

*

"Good old Glennenwhore, heh!" Robert hiccoughed as he moved his tankard with honey-beer away from his foamy snout. "Thieves, braggarts, robbers, looters, scavengers and whores - everywhere you see!"

'The Pale Frog' was one of the most expensive pubs in the Capital. It was a three-storey establishment built entirely of wood on the large wooden pier in north-western Glennenmór. Each floor was surrounded by pillared balconies with lake-side view. Father and son Rusk were sitting at the bottom floor, just thirty or so steps away from the bar, eating on the most expensive meal Cinnabar ever had tasted - a stew of broccoli, carrots, reed and golden hay, all marinated in a vegetable bouillon.

"I'm telling you, son," Robert jested with a mouthful of food. "This city will corrupt you. The only ones surviving it are we who are born here. It's tough for countryside bucks like you... you see that guy sitting over there, the fat grey one. He's a judge for private arbitration matters, a Róse. Well, let me tell you, he's living in an eight-room apartment down at Acorn Street, and owns a capercailzie racing ground south-west of here. Guess how he's got it?"

"Must've had wealthy clients?" Cinnabar said, drinking from his own thick, musky beer. It tasted strong, and had a brownish tint.

Robert started to laugh hysterically, leant forward and gave his son a pat on the shoulder. "Nah, he bedded the magnate Walynta Weil. I'm so happy I'm not in his shoes - she's well above thirty years old. The hag could probably barely walk - but she'd took a liking to the poor thing, he wasn't that fat two years ago I'll tell you!"

"He... he coupled with such an old doe? Why?"

"Coupled and coupled... shagged! The union was never meant to be fruitful, just made for mutual pleasure... or well, pleasure on her side I imagine!"

Cinnabar was strangely allured. In Ruskebó, he had heard that people sometimes engaged in relations out of physical pleasure. Both his mother and Cynthia decried such an 'irresponsible usage' of wombs. Claudia had warned Cinnabar - in a private talk when he had turned six - about 'mutt skanks' trying to 'ensnare him between their thighs', and the need to just engage in coupling under 'controlled and dignified circumstances'. Something with 'the skanks' had always fascinated him. The story of the Rosé solicitor and the Weisse magnate was disgusting as well, and thus enticing in more than one way.

"Why?" Cinnabar wondered, chuckling. "Why would anyone... eh what the darn... 'shag' such an old grandma?"

Robert moved his palms together, his eyes glittering. "Money... and influence, connections, protection, you name it. And he isn't alone... in fact, most of the guys in this enablement are _admiring_him."

"You too, Robbie?" Cinnabar asked, distrustful of what he had heard.

Robert leant forward, whispering. "He admires me. I'm not known as 'Raunchy Rob' for nothing, son."

Cinnabar could not help but shudder back. "D-don't tell me you've been... to Walynta's home too!"

"Of course I've been!" Robert burst out in a winning laughter. "A lawsuit from the city authorities. I advised her... a most sweet old lady, but no... I've never had intimate relations with her, and I never lie. I have however courted around a dozen or so high-ranking ladies, whose names I won't disclose... though you'll probably hear it from others than me one day! And... most of these rumours are probably true, heh!"

If Robert had believed this would impress his son, he was indeed mistaken. Cinnabar felt a knot clench in his belly as he realised that his father was a de-facto prostitute. He looked down, disturbed, on his meal. Had Robert no self-respect?

"Is that why?" he asked after a moment's doubt.

"Why what, heh?"

"Mother..."

For the first time, Cinnabar saw a hint of sadness emerge in his father's eyes. He turned away his face, gazing out over the bridge where a small ship - just six feet - had anchored. It was a rowing ship, shaped like a crescent moon with a stage onboard, a sail depicting a stormy grey lake and crew members bringing up musical instruments - drums, flutes, stringed instruments and one accordion. They were dressed like stereotypical sailors.

"Your mother and I," Robert said softly, while looking at the ship, "have a long story, since I just was finishing my senior year at the University. One day, Cinnie-boy, you will understand how it is when you love a doe... if you're unlucky that is."

He grinned, but his grin did not reach his eyes. He sipped his beer thoughtfully.

"Thank you," Cinnabar replied with a slightly miffed tone, "but I'm pretty much already head in heels with love - and yes, it falls pretty hard I've so seen!"

His father leant with his elbows over the table, tilting his head so he could hear better. "Go on."

"Well, for the last year or so," Cinnabar began, feeling uneasy, "I've been seeing this girl from the town... I mean, we haven't hung out but... she's fascinating to me. Completely white like snow, but with wonderful blue eyes, and perfect in every... how should I describe it?"

"Great fanny, heh?" Robert winked.

Cinnabar slapped in the air before his father's face. "Not fun!" he grunted. "Lyra is too... too pure, too sweet, too sophisticated... her eyes are almost almond-shaped... her fur is so soft and her ears have just that sweet..."

"She's got you wrapped round her tail I hear. Well, you've not talked with her yet?"

"I have," Cinnabar sighed, "and that's the problem... feels like we're talking past one another!"

Robert leant forward again, placing his hand on Cinnabar's shoulder. "Look here, son," he said, "I know what your problem is..."

"Don't you say it's my... ehm... 'bodily constitution'. I'm big, get on!"

Robert chuckled. "Not really so, but you sound like you're worshipping the ground she's pooping on... now have you told her you're in love with her?"

"No... you think I should?"

"No... No, no, no! If you had, you'd can look in the stars after her taking a like to you... bet your mother or sister would've advised you to tell her. Well, they are wrong, son. Girls always say they want romantic guys, poems, rustic boat trips, picnics, flower wreaths and undying declamations of love - and you should know it's wrong. They do not want that... it'll bore them, or scare them. Or both - yes that's possible, phew!"

"But what do girls want then?" Cinnabar complained.

Robert's eyes glittered as he moved his fingertips together, then blowing out some air and waving his hands. "Mystery!" he said. "They want to get surprised... and I know you more than you think - don't think that girl is some plain dandelion, but rather one that turns gazes and whistles around. And you know what, such girls have options..."

"I know, I have to be fantastic... but it's just so difficult to deal with it."

Once again, Robert patted him on the shoulder. "Look here, Cinnie-boy," he said, his breath musky from beer, "you don't have to be fantastic, just stimulate her curiosity... tease her, put fireflies in her head, confuse her and provoke her..."

"It's she who's provoking me!" Cinnabar burst out. "Always... she never fails to mention my weight, or try to ask me weird questions..."

"What kind of questions?"

The band on the ship started to play - a fast melody, Leporian folk with a touch of drunken sailor. Seven musicians were performing on-stage, with acrobats swirling around between the ropes hung above, juggling burning sticks and staging fights with wooden sword. A crowd of onlookers had gathered at the balcony, cheering and raising their jugs with beer. A happy summer's spirit reigned, just a tint of nervousness over the current war.

"Want us to go down there and get a better view?" Robert suggested.

"No..," Cinnabar sighed. "I rather drink buttercup juice."

"Why, if I might be asking?"

Cinnabar breathed in. "Our country is at war... while these airheads are jubilating, their kinsfolk may be burnt to pieces by the Enemy, out in the countryside. Tomorrow they might be in Glennenmór."

Robert shook his head. "No... they won't. And let the people have their happiness... half of them are going to be drafted soon, to defend the Flower Valley. They want to celebrate the last moments of peace. But over to the other issue, son... that girl... Lyra... what kind of questions is she asking you?"

Cinnabar found it difficult to explain to his father what it was with Lyra. It had taken another jug of beer for him to come to the point, how she asked questions on his historical knowledge, then teased him and ended up with insulting him. Robert had nodded, slightly drunk.

"Heh! She c-cannot place you, t-that's why!" he explained. "T-that's good... she's curious of you. She's getting frustrated... you only h-have to frustrate her for the right reasons, son!"

"But how should I know if I'm doing it right!?" Cinnabar explained, stretching out his arms. "I cannot tell if I'm doing it right or wrong or whatever! If I'm making her mad or if I should allow her to get me mad! If I antagonise her... I won't get her..."

Robert scratched his red hair. "Well," he said, "don't try to think about it so much... it's like riding a capercailzie, you fall off when you start pondering what you're doing. Just... g-glide..."

A sudden flinch made Cinnabar turn towards the stage again. One of the acrobats, garbed in bulgy sailor's trousers with a rope tied around her waist and a pad over one of her eyes, was walking on her hands on top of the yardarm, while juggling strawberries with her feet. She held on to a wooden knife with her teeth. It was first after a few moments that Cinnabar recognised that it was Becka Sommer, creating an immediate nausea. She smiled and raised one hand to greet the cheering masses.

He did not know whether it was the sight of her that stirred his bowels, but he suddenly realised he had to make a foray to the loo. Excusing himself, he left the table and scurried towards the entrance, where he found the bathrooms - secluded stalls separated by curtains, sawn holes in the woodwork, clay pipes stuck down into the rlangen waters. After having relieved himself and moved out, he moved out into the cloudy evening, the red tint of the Sun visible beneath the clouds in the far-away western mountains. He sighed, seeping in the clear air of the lake, with only the tiniest taint of beer. Feeling tired, he moved towards the rails, looking down the dark waters of the lake.

A sudden creaking sound attracted his attention to his left side. Moving around, leaning against the wooden rail, he laid his eyes on a familiar sight, the butterfly-like Creaker beetle hovering above him.

"So..," he mumbled, "this is how it's like to be drunk? What you say, should I join Robbie for some more drinking now or wait till I've sobered up some more?"

Crik crik, the shining insect muttered.

Cinnabar moved his arms around his back, clasped his fingers together and started to move alongside the pier. There were couples holding hands or making out, respectable citizens taking their evening walks, and drunkards sitting on benches together and sipping on canisters filled with alcoholic liquids. Glennenmór, he thought, at the brink of ruin.

As he rounded the edge of the pier, moving alongside the docks, he could hear loud cheers behind him. A voice started singing, in a shrieking, panicked mode.

"So you devils here gathered,

At this pale evening night,

This tale I'm telling shattered

At this very site!"

A loud crash echoed against Cinnabar's eardrums, and he could hear swear words around him. He ran towards the sound, the Creaker already before him. A small mob was jumping around, gracefully evading clay projectiles being thrown all around and shattered against the wooden street. The crowd yelled and booed, "hey what are you doing!", "cease with that immediately young lady!", "you are crazy!"

On a wooden pier bench, Lyra stood and balanced a number of clay pots in her hands, naked apart from a bent canister hanging underneath her arms. Her white fur was disorderly and covered in red liquid. Cinnabar rushed at her, thinking that she was injured - and had to take cover for a flying clay pot which exploded just one step to his right. Taking cover behind a wooden barrel, he looked into her eyes and found that they were dull and covered in like a fog.

"Oh you sorry conjurers of cheap rhymes,

This mine artistry mine testament is

To the highest chimneys they climb

Wisdom eternal for lifetimes!"

She threw three other pots around, this time hitting a dock-worker who ran towards her with a rope. Cinnabar could see that her snout and mouth were covered in red goo.

"For my blood calls my mortal coil

Into rest we'll go, as the lakes boil

But you devils take heed, this headache's real

I'll hunt you down with everlasting zeal!"

Then she started to laugh, spilling out dark liquid from the canister. She temporarily dropped down the heap of pots before her feet, before picking a few up, throwing three of them and crushing a fourth against the wooden quay. Then she kicked down all the pots on the ground as she started to kick with her legs in a drunken dance of triumph.

"I'm going to triumph, I'm going to win

Hoppenfarallan,

For my blood is bronze molten within

As I prepare my buckskin,

Hoppenfarallan, hoppenfarallan!"

Cinnabar walked out with determined steps, moving his arms out towards the growing crowd watching the scene with embarrassed fascination. "Excuse me," he said. He grabbed Lyra around her thighs, making her kick and scream as he tried to lift her up.

"Put me down, you brutish puppy-buck, or I'm going to put the droppings mine down your throat!" she let out as she banged her fists against his back.

"Party's over now, my lady!" Cinnabar grunted as he withstood kicks against his chest and pot belly. The onlookers jeered, whistled and applauded as he struggled past them, carrying Lyra over his shoulder.

"Thief's balls!" she cursed as she snaked around, slamming a pot right into Cinnie's head so it broke. The pain burnt, and she struggled herself loose, running up-street while screaming that she was being robbed. He caught up with her at the end of an alley, wrestling her down as she struggled. She continued to sing.

"Oh my days give me strength,

For them shadows are tracing my length

In my hour tenth

Was this encounter meant?"

Cinnabar let out a shriek as Lyra's teeth buried themselves in his right shoulder. As he took a jump back, she staggered away from him, one hand on her gut. The contents of her canister had spilled all over Cinnabar's tunic - judging by the smell of it, it was sap wine mixed with strawberry juice.

He gave her a glance filled with contempt. "I won't help you if you don't want help, Lyra!"

She put her thumbs in her ears, and made an obscene sound as she fluttered her tongue at him. Circulating around her, he tried to get an opportunity to catch her. With a roar, he jumped forward clumsily, but she evaded him easily, disappearing out from the alley. He traced her, but when he came out at the docks again, she was nowhere to be seen. Reminiscing what his father had told him, Cinnabar cursed himself. Darn, this incident has not improved my shots... I just tried to be a tenderbuck!

He sighed.

At that point, one of the storage buildings behind him exploded.

*

Arthur woke up in Caroline's living-room. It was darker than he remembered it, the walls almost black. Outside, the grey skies were illuminated in a misty white. The entire world seemed to wobble nervously as he put his feet down on the carpet. He supported himself against the table, as he struggled forward around the room, which at once felt crammed and yet so spacious that he felt small and insignificant.

Great, he thought... have they abandoned me? 'Little pathetic Arthur', left alone once again? Wondering if they had given him opiates again, feeling nausea emanate from every pore in his skin, he moved around the room, calling out without hearing his own voice.

A figure stood at the door to the hall-way, the threads with hollowed clay pebbles pushed aside by her head. She looked at him - though he could not make out her appearance as her visage was covered in shadows and she had her back turned against him.

"Caroline?"

The cloaked shadow allowed her hood to slip below the neck as she turned around. A blaze of cold sunlight fell into the room throughout the clouds, illuminating the face of Arthur's mother with a shower of pale glow.

"M-mother..," Arthur mumbled, to his surprise not at all that surprised.

She looked at him, her yellow eyes empty and pearl-like - as if they were sown on to a plush toy - gazing beyond him.

"M-mother I..," he tried.

She moved forward, her neck tilting and her jaw half-opened. It was first when she had moved half-way across the room that he saw that her jaw was hanging on its right side and that the remnant of her mouth was a bloody mess...

He shut his eyes.

"ARTHUR RUSK!" she shouted at him. "LOOK AT WHAT YOU'VE DONE! LOOK AT ME! LOOK! AT! WHAT! YOU'VE! DONE!"

He was hiding behind the sofa, his heart bouncing, his teeth shattering, his tongue dry like sand. He kept his eyes shut... the memories came back to life, his mother dragging him towards the lower deck... Becka... he struggling loose, kicking her on the guts... Becka... the ferry rocking and turning... Cynthia falling off... Cinnabar... Arthur trying to help her up... (him)... her body falling down on the wheel, a choked thud...

.

Arthur on the deck, in a foetal position.

"Forgive me..," he whimpered. "Forgive me mother!"

Her shadow fell over him, and with a strength he never would have expected she threw the sofa around, her claws burning into his skin as she dragged him up far. Not able to help it, his eyes were open, and he found himself pressed against the wall, looking down at her. Her eyes were different now, black holes into nothingness. As she opened her mouth, licks of fire emanated from it, and she was set ablaze.

"YOU DID THE UNSPEAKABLE, YOU MONSTER!"

"MOTHER! FORGIVE ME! I DID NOT MEAN..!"

"YOU WILL FALL, ARTHUR RUSK! YOU SHALL FALL! AND BURN! MAY THE THIEF DEVOUR YOU, MURDERER!"

With these words, she threw him out through the window. He flew out into the sultry air, grey clouds rolling above, shards of glass raining all around him. As he turned down, he saw the waters of the rlangen Lake open up beneath him... black and deep. A green hue of bubbles arose to the surface, and turned into blinding yellow as the water transformed into a sea of fire, engulfing him and obliterating him as he screamed...

"Wake up! Wake up! Wake up, Arthur!" Claudia yelled as she slapped him over the cheeks repeatedly, her voice shrill out of desperation. Arthur flew up, crawled up over the back of the couch and fell down on the floor, crying.

"FORGIVE ME MOTHER! FORGIVE ME! FORGIVE ME!"

Claudia rushed down on her knees, taking his hands and holding them briefly before embracing him, gently rocking him from side to side.

"So, so," she whispered in his ear, tired. Softly, she stroke him over his frail spine.

"Forgive me..," he sobbed. "Forgive me, m-m-mother."

"T-there was nothing you could have done, Artie," Claudia reassured him.

He sat on his knees on the floor, shivering and moistly, his chin shaking.

"You know," Claudia said and massaged his shoulders, "I also miss your mother very much, but what's happened has happened. You should try to remember all the happy moments with her, instead... well, instead of the end. I am your mother now."

"Should I warm the soup?" Caroline asked. Arthur had not even noticed her slip into the room.

"Not yet. The children have not yet returned, sister."

"They'll probably staying at Rob's. Your 'children' are young adults, Claudia. One day, you must let them stand on their own legs. Like our own mother did..."

Claudia smiled bitterly. "I'm trying to _not_repeat her mistakes, sister. She was all too liberal with us three... you, me and Duncan. We all got our bruises because of that."

Caroline crossed her arms, looking out the window. "I still think our lessons might've made us all better people... in different ways. Do you by the way know anything about our brother's whereabouts?"

"No," Claudia answered. "No one does. He just pops up when he pops up, usually for the summers, though the exact time can vary. Not that I'm not worried for him, but I'm more worried for his effect on Cindy... I don't think he's a good role model."

"Why not let young Cinnabar spend more time with Robert then?"

Claudia was forced to hold back a chuckle. "Are you crazy, sister? Robert... or what do they call him here?" She threw a concerned glance at Arthur and then moved her hands over his ears for a moment, while saying something.

"...I'm_not_ going to condone my son to become like that!" she finished after removing her hands.

"Well, sister," Caroline smiled warmly, "you know what's best for your children, but I'm going to make the soup anyway. You two need something warm in your belly. When Cornelia and Cinnabar return, they can eat the scraps."

"I'll guess that'll work. Also this one needs his medicine..."

As the two Rusk ladies started to leave the room, Arthur raised his feeble voice. "Aunt C-C-C-Claudia, d-d-don't leave me!" he pleaded.

Claudia turned her head around her shoulder.

"I d-d-don't want to sleep alone... I d-d-dreamt t-t-the... m-most scary d-d-d... d..."

"I will sleep in the living room," Claudia said and smiled. "And if necessary, I will hold your hand, little Artie. You are not alone, and you are loved. If you want, you can follow us to the kitchen."

She took his hand and they walked down the corridor. As they entered the kitchen, the entire building rocked, and they all lost their balance, tumbling into the wall.

*

Finding Robert was proven to be more taxing than Cornelia initially had thought. Last summer, they had visited Glennenmór for a weekend, and back then their father had lived at the western end of Cobnut Alley, amongst the Ýses. After running to his old colony, she had learnt that her father had moved to an expensive flat at the Plaza of Heroes. Cursing for herself, she had run through the busy avenues of central Glennenmór.

When she had arrived, a third of the Plaza was filled with affluent middle class protesters who were beating with copper pots and casseroles, chanting against the Emergency Act of Year 501. They were surrounded by at least a company of capercailzie riders armed with lances. A lieutenant stopped her as she trailed down towards the southern side of the square, asking for whether she planned to join the protesters. She had said that she searched for Robert Rusk, and that she was his daughter. The lieutenant had smiled courteously and directed her towards 'The Pale Frog', an establishment in the north-western part of the city, near the rlangen trading docks.

After another forty minutes, she had arrived at the docks, a buzzing network of wooden piers and bridges leaping alongside the rlangen shores. The buildings here were overwhelmingly made from wood, piles of barrels stood on the shores sold extra cheap as the northern trade had ceased. The docks were half-filled with ships, and many of the market stalls had already closed - she didn't know whether out of the war or if they usually closed in this time. The pubs however, were teeming full - and they were plentiful alongside this street.

In Ruskebó, there had just been one regular pub, which was open for just three evenings every week. Here, they had popped up like mushrooms. It was impossible to tell which of the pubs that was 'The Pale Frog', especially as she was illiterate and couldn't understand the characters on the signs hanging above the entries. A musky scent of beer and hormones filled the air, and most of the pubs were brightly illuminated by candles. The males were frisky and cheerful, not a few of them singing songs celebrating ancient victories. One of the largest establishments was a large outdoor yard marked by a fence crowned by glowing paper lanterns in every corner. Loud music played a twenty-member band was heard, while overwhelmingly middle aged couples swaged cross the wooden dance floor, holding onto one another.

Cornelia felt a hand touch her shoulder. Turning around, she stood face to face with an elderly fellow sporting a round red hat, a short-sleeved vest, a crimson tunic and leather shoes. His fur was vanilla-coloured and he sprouted a magnificent moustache. His breath was horrendous however, putrid and beer-drenched, as if it contained layers of both putrid and young alcohol which had made the contents of his belly to ferment.

She looked into his drunken eyes, both sad and distant at the same time. "Excuse me, Mr," she said, "I'm looking for the..."

"Y'wan'bonk?" he mumbled and grabbed Cornelia's wrist, dragging her forward and giving her a west kiss on her cheek. Without thinking, she slapped him over his face. That just seemed to encourage him as he took her other wrist, held on to her as he licked her over the cheek. "I'm'goin'to'bonk'y'good!" he whispered in her ear. With an angry grunt, Cornelia buried her knee between the buck's legs, he loosened his grip and she ran away from him - temporarily on all fours.

Resting against the rail of the bridge, she once again felt how the rage took a stranglehold over her heart. She remembered Ásta Rusk's - her best friend's - blood all over her tunic just yesterday. She remembered the blood and gore trampled into the soil of Ruskebó Fair. She remembered the death of Cynthia, crushed against the wheel of the 'Grand Old Pike', another victim amongst thousands of others. Looking over the horizon, the Lake looked so tranquil - mirror-blank and lead-coloured underneath the rolling sheet of cloudy skies. Her gaze trailed far away, up alongside the eastern shores of the lake, a dark line of flat woodlands and hill - incredibly thin between the waters and the distant Rim. Here and there, however, she could see the clouds glow red and thin pillars of black smoke underneath. She could count at least ten such pillars of smoke. An electric shudder moved up her spine when she understood what these pillars represented. The war is creeping closer, she thought, imagining burning forests and colonies.

What could they be - less than ten leagues away from Glennenmór?

A few dark shadows moved underneath the grey-blue evening clouds, in tremendous speed, compact triangles which looked like pieces of coal. They grew in size rapidly, dark blots traversing the air right below the city. They travelled in a formation similar to how ducks flew when they headed south during the autumns. But these things were no ducks, they moved too fast and were too large - at least thirty or so times larger than an eagle.

Within less than a minute, she could see their shapes emerge. They were cylindrical, two elongated wings alongside their bodies on either side, seemingly with no sharp delineation between the body and the wings. There were also four other wings, moving out diagonally from the body, sharp and narrow like swords. The bodies, which were mirror-blank and changed from black to grey to silver, reflecting the surroundings as they gyrated around in perfect formation, turning around in the skies and moving directly towards the docks...

Thief, Cornelia thought as she ran for cover behind a pile of barrels...

*

Cinnabar ran for all what he could to take cover, avoiding splinters, planks, shattered barrels and entire walls as they whirled around in the evening air. He was joining up with others stampeding, dock workers and pub visitors, prostitutes and magnates, couples and singles, young and old, rich and poor - all who could run on all their four limbs. The strafers above were the largest he had seen as of yet, their shadows darkening the buildings underneath them. It was at least twenty feet between their wings.

They had broken up their formation, flying in a line instead. Cylindrically shaped objects, hardly larger than saucers, fell down from their bellies, spinning in the air before disappearing, sending out massive flash waves that shattered the upper floors of buildings all over their surroundings in wave pattern. For brief moments, it was as if the air itself was liquid.

He fell forward when a piece of wood hit him on the back. With a sigh, he tried to move up on his knees, but was immediately pushed down by a panicked Leporian lady rushing over his side. Kicked around, trampled over and almost choked, he took shelter behind a fallen wheelbarrow, seeing how the strafers continued down south towards the city centre.

Looking up towards the skies, Cinnabar saw a hand stretch forth to him. It belonged to Robert, who sported a scrap wound over his left temple. Taking his father's hand, he stood up on unsteady legs.

"Anything broken?" Robert asked, while feeling the arms and sides of his son with his fingers. Robert's entire body was covered with stains of blood and a thin layer of dust.

"Not as far as I'll know..."

"What_are_ those things?" his father suddenly wheezed, a nervous grin playing over the corners of his mouth. "The uppermost floor of The Frog just shattered, together with everyone there. There's dead bodies everywhere around... or... should I say... 'pieces of dead bodies'?"

"This is what I said!" Cinnabar exclaimed, first afterward realising that he was shouting. His right hand shook without control and he hid it behind his back. For the first time, he looked out over the street. Around a third of the buildings had their uppermost floors chopped off, the air thick with a reddish-brown fog of pulverised dirt which filled the lungs and made the eyes burn. Dead bodies were strewn here and there, trapped under rubble, trampled to death or scattered around as bloody rips of flesh.

"Calm down, son!" his father shouted and placed his fingers on Cinnabar's upper arms. "We should go to the shelters!"

"What!? B-But... my mother and my sister!?"

Robert's chest shivered as tears emerged in his eyes. "Most likely already down in the shelters... but we need to get there... we must! These streets are a death trap, and the shelters only have the capacity for one tenth of the city's population! Come quick!" He started to run down-street. Cinnabar was about to follow him when a thought struck him.

Lyra!

He stretched his neck to the air, sniffed a little. And then he stopped.

"Father!" he said. "We need to go back!"

"We don't have time thinking about our money! To Hell with it, son!"

"It's Lyra!" Cinnabar shouted back, his throat dry from all the dust.

Robert stomped. "For the sake of the Goddess... now you've got to say you're kidding! The lass's just a flinch in ye chest-thumper! You've forgotten her the next week!"

"She was there! And drunk... I must bring her with me... she's defenceless out there!"

Robert laughed out, hitting himself on his knees. He shook his head. "You don't get it! Glennenmór is being... is being... decomposed... in front of our eyes! We need to take shelter! Goodbye, son!"

"Coward!" Cinnabar yelled towards his father as Robert vanished into the fog, the last thing he saw of his father being the soles of his feet. Then he turned towards the other direction, moving back towards the docks.

*

It was more easy than he initially had thought to find her. At first, he had despaired. Many of the piers had been severed from the docks, some of the buildings had collapsed into the water, fragments of wood and swollen dead bodies floating around, and the remnants of the quays were littered with body parts, splinters and trash. It looked as if a hurricane had befallen the city. The only movement around was the crawling of the wounded, the only sound their wails and whimpers.

He tried to call out her name, his voice echoing over the waters, running back and forth alongside the collapsed quay. It was impossible to count the fallen, due to the sheer amount of severed body parts. He was forced to look away when he saw a particularly gruesome sight - a female who had gotten one leg blown off, impaled on a torn-off sign-pole, from her thigh and up next to her neck at the key-bone. Her eyes moved around, her mouth attempting to articulate a scream. She stretched out her fingers towards Cinnabar, forming her mouth to a silent, 'help me down'...

Forcing his gaze away from her while shaking his head, he could hear a familiar voice singing.

"Oh woe ye old maid

Of Hasselbó oh Hasselbó

Ye could not yet yerself laid

In Hasselbó oh Hasselbó

Flowers wild crowning ye braid

But still just an old maid

Of Hasselbó oh Hasselbó

Oh how she to the Goddess prayed

That she'll get laid

Out of Hasselbó oh Hasselbó..."

Cinnabar scurried towards the voice, through a thick red cloud of dirt and gravel fragments which filled the air. He moved inside an old wooden warehouse, where most of the upper floors had either been blown away or collapsed in piles of wood and barrels on top of one another. The evening sun of the Flower Valley high summer showered a few lone rays through the cracks left by escaped planks, making the dust which slowly descended down on the floor shine like red gold.

"The buck, the buck from Glennenbó

He travelled far and wide

To Hasselbó, oh Hasselbó

To the old maid he said

'By golly what a head

Please bring me some mead'

And I'll get you laid..."

"Lyra?" Cinnabar called out. He found her balancing on-top of a barrel, her white fur stained with dust. As she saw him appear, she burst out in laughter, falling down on her belly and hitting her little fists against the sides of the barrel.

"Oh Cinnie! You're so smitten even when you're bitten, you naughty thing?" she winked at him.

"You need to get to the shelters, Lyra. I am here to get you... don't know if you've noticed, but the city is under attack!"

He stomped on the floor, to accentuate his statement. Lyra just turned her head up, with a slightly bored expression. "We're all going to die anyway," she stated, gazing at her fingernails. He moved closer to her, slowly as to not provoke her.

"Oh Goddess we're going to die!" Lyra gritted, staring up towards the cloudy skies. When Cinnabar lifted her up, she was entirely jerky, crying slowly as he carried her thrown over his shoulders out from this death trap. As he exited the building, it shattered behind him. Looking up, he saw that the mega-strafers were flying three and three over the Capital, here and there releasing their disc-shaped payloads of terror.

The anger burnt in his heart as he carried his muse through the rubble of the city. Two streets down, he encountered a military detachment of capercailzie riders. The birds were aggravated and unruly, so some of the soldiers led them by foot. They were armed with shovels, and about half of the small troop consisted of civilian bucks. Despite the red dust blowing over the largely levelled area of former colonies, he could recognise Keegan and Kenneth, Lyra's two older brothers from a previous litter. Both were already sporting military-style jackets, covered with brown dust. Their fur was usually a combination of black and white, a non-figurative pattern.

Cinnabar was too tired to greet him, instead Keegan pointed towards him and alerted his brother. Soon the two brother surrounded Cinnabar, who carried the now unconscious Lyra over his shoulders like a package.

"Sister!" Kenneth let out, with a tone of panic in his voice. Keegan on his side grabbed the collar of Cinnabar's robe, staring at him with unfocused eyes.

"She's not dead, is she?" he asked, his eyes wide with shock. Cinnabar instinctively pushed him away. It made him uneasy to witness two usually very assembled and self-controlled young bucks in panic mode.

"No... heart's beating," he said.

Kenneth raised his fist. "If you don't let our sister go, we'll..."

Cinnabar took a step back, and gently lowered his back so her brothers could take her. "If not for me," he said, "you wouldn't have had a sister."

Keegan wrapped Lyra in his tunic as he took her up. She was snarling now, seemingly oblivious to the chaos unfolding around her. Cinnabar could hear buildings shatter in the distance, as well as screams.

Kenneth offered Cinnabar his hand. "I'm... I'm sorry," he said. "Did not recognise you... you're Cynthia's son right?"

"Claudia's," Cinnabar replied as he - after a moment's doubt - took Kenneth's shivering hand.

"Whatever. There's rumour the old Bastion has cracked, and that twenty rapists and murderers are running loose on the streets of Glennenmór. We've already interrupted two attempted rapes in the red fog... so we're a bit itchy."

"Understood," Cinnabar grunted.

"We owe you one," Keegan smiled tiredly. "What was your name again, Maroon?"

"His name," a voice was heard from behind, "is Cinnabar Rusk."

It was Robert. Riding a capercailzie and holding on to its harness. He pointed at his son with a shovel.

"Are you alright, son?"

"Yes... guess so... Robbie."

"Great sweet Goddess's teats! Well... you know where your sister is?"

Cinnabar shook his head. "No... are they alright?"

Robert wrinkled his nose. "Your mother, your aunt and your new brother - you didn't tell me you gotten one - are in safety. As for your sister... well, thought you would know. After all, she went out looking for ya!"

Cinnabar felt his heart sink. "W-what you're saying?"

"Yes... so now I'm going to find her. I want you to go to the shelter, son! You've done your bit of being a hero today... and you know what they say, you only catch one lucky break at a time!"

Just one block away, a large dark shadow glided past, and yet another storey of a colony tenement was spread around.

"I will follow you, Rob," Cinnabar said. "She's my sister. We search better together."

Robert nodded slowly. "If you promise I don't lose the sight of you, son."

As they started to depart from the search and rescue team, another figure skipped towards them through the dust. It was Kenneth Mársk.

"I'll tag on with you guys," he said. "So we're even."

Cinnabar and Robert nodded in silence, and he moved in between them as they started to descend into the red mist.

*

She did not know for how many hours she had been dangling, especially not as her mind had wandered around in the dim realm between awakening and unconsciousness for what could have been hours. Luckily - or something - she was up to her knees engulfed in water. With the fingers of her free hand, she could reach the surface and wet her lips.

How had she gotten herself into this predicament? In panic, she had taken shelter inside a pub - located at the bottom of a wooden office building out on one of the piers. Many dozens of others had also fled into the same building, which already had been crowded with previously cheerful evening-gadabouts. The building had then rocked, the uppermost floors collapsing leading to a chain reaction. Just before she would be squashed under the rubble like an insect, the wooden floor had cracked underneath her, sending her down into the dark rlangen waters.

One could think that from there, she would be able to swim back to safety - through floating wood, shattered bodies and hungry chars. She had been lucky, probably at least a hundred had been crushed inside the building. But as the bridge itself had partially crumbled, she had gotten caught stuck hanging by her wrist, her right hand jammed in between a fallen wall and the remainder of the pier. At the beginning, she had been too much in a state of terror to notice the grinding pain in her arm. She had screamed, trying to jerk herself loose, passing out twice due to the debilitating pain in her forearm.

So, Cornelia thought, this was your life. She closed her eyes, sighing deeply as her heart rate calmed down, making her come to peace with the thought of vanishing forever. Her thoughts wandered towards her mother - passionate, ambitious, intelligent, driven, but also warm and caring. She also thought of her brother, sometimes a nuisance and a pest, but for most of the times a jovial, wonderful Leporian being. I'm sorry, mom... that I've failed to bring Cindy home.

For a while, she had deliberated whether she should simply allow herself to thirst to death - after all, wasn't she already as well as deceased? It was however impossible to not move the fingers down to the surface of the water to wet her lips - despite that a layer of dirt and shivers covered the surface. The only thing that remembered her that she was alive was, in a quite perverse way, the moans of the wounded and dying above - a cacophony of whimpers, screams and crying, penetrating the thick air. As the hours - or minutes - passed by, it became more and more difficult for Cornelia to discern whether the wailing from dozens of voices was in fact crying out inside her head. As time progressed on, fewer and fewer of them could be heard.

Not knowing for how long she had slept, she awoke to hearing other voices calling out from above, against a background sound of materials being shifted around. At first, her exhausted mind could not make out what they were humming and thumping about. It was a miracle that she found the energy to keep her eyelids open. Reality was a feverish haze, the lukewarm water soaking her legs, the gnawing pain in her tumid arm a remainder of the thin thread that kept her tied to this existence. Once again, unconsciousness started to embrace her as her mind slipped away...

"Hellooooo! Anyoooone there!?"

She opened her eyes. Had she heard... her brother's voice?

"I... I'm... here," she croaked. Her throat was sore and she could barely open her jaws.

"Coooornelia!" she heard another voice, which she recognised as Robert's. Her father. A warm feeling of enormous relief showered over her heart. Thank you Goddess, that I am so loved. For the first time since the building collapsed, she felt something akin to hope. While tears flushed down from her cheeks, she screamed - a cry of pure dread and death anxiety, but also of hope - of a resolve that she would live.

"There's someone down there!" another - unknown - voice was heard.

"What are ye waiting for you slugrugs!? Start digging away!"

Soon, the murkiness of her suspended tomb was perforated by runlets of pale light. She could see clearer now, how large parts of the pier in front of her had been pressed down under the water surface. She could hear how they struggled with something heavy above - a sudden blast of pain made her grit. The fallen wall which held her hand in an iron grip had moved, and then crushed down on her with more weight. It felt as if her hand was paper-thin between the pier and the wall, and for every breath she took, the pain burnt in her fingers.

Then the evening light fell over her face as something was removed above her... a barrel or a table. She found herself face to face with her brother, his face enormously relieved. "Sister!" he let out, not even trying to sound collected. "How... how..."

With her last strength, she gave him a smile. Cinnabar turned to someone unseen.

"We've found her! She's... she's... under the pier... under the pillar right there," he pointed. "Move it, and she can get up!"

She tried to shake her head, to raise her hand, to warn him. Too late.

The terrible crushing weight of the wood was removed from her aching hand, and she fell down into the water. Trying to swim, she found that her right arm was immovable and hurt even more than she had imagined. It was as if the hand was being roasted over the brazier of fire in the Ruskebó temple - not even the water provided any solace. She slowly sank down to the bottom. Panicking, she screamed and gobbled up more water than she wanted through her throat and filled her belly with it.

The last thing she saw before passing out was the shape of a Leporian male descending down on her, swimming down through the water for all that it was worth...

*

"She's... alive... She's alive!" Cinnabar let out when he confirmed that his sister's heart was beating. They had wrapped her in a towel and laid her on a coiled litter, in a cleared-out area on the nearby quay. It was late in the night now, but brighter than it had been during the day, since the Sun - red and partially concealed by golden clouds - had made an appearance in the north-east.

"It's time that we start moving," commander Cyrus Astis grunted as he gave Robert his flask with punch. "But I'll have to say," he continued and laid his hand on the shoulder of Cinnabar's father. "It was a darn brave diving down into that water... it's very stony around there and you could have hit your head and drowned."

Robert smiled and moved his own towel around his shoulders as he sipped from the beverage. "Well, I've only know one of my daughters... and all of Claudia's children matter very dearly for me," he nodded and looked at Cinnabar.

"She's got fever," Kenneth said, having felt Cornelia's ears with his fingers. "We need to bring her to the shelters as soon as possible... or the hospital. Is the hospital still operating?"

"I don't know," Cyrus said. "But I doubt there's anyone there right now. We're heading for the shelters."

The small company moved through the emptied streets of Glennenmór. Cinnabar was surprised by the fact that most of the city was intact. Some neighbourhoods had been completely razed and levelled to the ground, others had their upper floors collapsed or scattered over the streets. Yet others just looked tranquil and completely unharmed. Cyrus led their advance as quick as possible, while Cinnabar helped Kenneth to carry the litter with his sister. Robert moved by foot now, the fur of his face still soaked and dark. He turned towards his son.

"Well, heh," he grinned, "after this war is over you'll see, there would be lots of new buildings popping up. Like mushrooms a rainy autumn."

Cinnabar gave his father a tired smile. "Good... I guess," he sighed.

Then, one of the soldiers yelled 'Ambush' and 'Take Cover'. Cinnabar looked up towards the bright midsummer night skies, and saw a familiar sight. A lone hawk-sized strafer glimmering pink in the midsummer night sunlight. Without thinking, he placed himself on all fours over his sister, to provide protection, while everyone else were running around - apart from Kenneth who tried to move Cinnabar for some reason. He closed his eyes and pressed himself against her more tightly, careful so to not crush her however.

A splat was heard, at the same time as Cinnabar sensed a swoosh closely above his hair. He looked up and the strafer was already far away, moving south. He breathed out a sigh of relief... until he suddenly turned quiet as he looked towards the north.

The jerking body of his father's bird lied side-ways on the pebble-stone street, its neck gone, a large hole in its chest cavity exposing the spine and the organs. It kicked with its legs, moving around, blood sprinkling through its wounds. A body lied a few steps away from it - and Cinnabar steeled himself as he walked towards it.

The upper half of the head was gone, just the lower jaw left. A trail of brain matter had cascaded over the flattened Glennenmór Street. Cinnabar sank down on his knees, twisting his face to a hateful grimace as he took the hand of the buck who had been his father and placed it in his lap, massaging it as if he tried to make Robert well again. When Kenneth placed his hand on Cinnabar's shoulder, he gazed up towards the skies, covered with golden clouds, and let out a shrill scream as he descended down into tears...