Gryphons
Chapter Twelve

Ratings: R
Warnings: Violence
Summary: Dahli’s down the drain, Draephus is on the hunt, and Delaes is on the run.
Notes:...

As Dahli Sandiniti was climbing an electrified fence, J’Vanni Dei Syncopius was starting his day. He was a late riser, and he had a routine. Run the bath, put the kettle on to boil, make the tea and leave it to steep while he had a bath. Today however Rysta had already made the tea. It was a small deviation in his routine, but upsetting and unnerving; he didn’t deal well with change, ever since his breakdown he had a difficult time with any sort of little variation to his routine.

He felt Rysta come up behind him and rub his shoulders. “Sorry about the tea, I should know better by now.”

J’Vanni shook his head. “It’s all right. What are you supposed to do, sit on the floor like a lump until I decide to move?” He rubbed his eyes wearily, then shook his head again. “It’s been years, it’s time I stopped trying to control every tiny aspect of my world, it won’t work and I know better, so why do I still try to do it?”

“Maybe because your own people raised you in this tiny little paradise and then tore it to shreds and destroyed you? You’re entitled to your eccentricities.”

“As are you. I can’t believe you would even want to stand in the same room with me.”

Rysta played with the long waterfall of white silk that was J’Vanni’s hair. “Yeah, well, if I thought you had anything to do with the poisons they dumped into the water that killed my family I’d strangle you in your sleep. But you’re just as much a victim as the rest of us.” He kissed his head. “Besides, you let me play in your studio and sleep in your guest room. Where’s Delaes?”

“Out attempting to find a ride down to the South Continent. We felt we could use a vacation.”

Rysta snorted. “There’s nothing going down there! It’s the rainy season!”

“Well he wants to go. And who am I to argue with…”

“The mother of your child?”

J’Vanni spun sharply to look at him, grey eyes large with terror. Rysta watched him, then leaned forward and kissed his nose.

“Relax. There are many things in this world that send me into a frenzy, but baby Grey Boy-Faylans are not one of them.”

“How did you find out?”

Rysta gently nudged J’Vanni aside so he could start breakfast. “J’Vanni, I’ve raised Faylans, owned Faylans, and bred Faylans. I know a Faylan when I see one. And even if I didn’t recognise the large expressive eyes, small foxy face and long limbs, I knew the first time I heard him sing. Nothing has the range of vocalizations that Faylans do, and that howl he lets out during ‘Avalair Grey’ is the warning call Faylans let out to alert their little barking buddies a predator is around. I hate that song. Every time it played on the receiver my old Faylan would go mental. Nothing sadder than a twenty-year-old Faylan trying to rally the troops.”

J’Vanni smiled. “But Rusty was so cute when he did it.”

“Yeah it was scruffing adorable when he did it at threehour in the morning.” Rysta looked at J’Vanni with dark-rimmed eyes blue eyes, stubble on his handsome face, his long dark hair hanging loose around his shoulders. He placed his large hands on J’Vanni’s upper arms. “The point is I love you, I love Delaes, and I’m not about to harm either of you. But I do have one very important question that I must ask before the two of you head south to have a baby.”

“And that is?”

“Can I stay in your apartment?”

J’Vanni smiled, reaching up one long elegant hand to take hold of his friend’s chin. “Now how can I say no to a face like that?

“I heard Kyphisians have terrible eyesight.”

“We don’t. And there is nothing wrong with our sense of smell, either.”

“Sorry. Everything I own smells like a house fire. I need to do laundry.”

J’Vanni poured himself some tea, glancing up as his hawk flew in through the window, a large rat in his talons. He returned his gaze to Rysta.

“I know I probably needn’t ask this, but…”

“I haven’t told a soul, don’t worry. But J’Vanni, you were awarded citizenship, there is no reason to not let people know you’re Kyphisian.”

“Rysta you and I both know that there are people who will kill me regardless of what I did during the war. They will kill me because of what they lost, and what I represent. And they will kill Delaes and our child for similar reasons. How dare two monstrosities begin a family when so many have lost their own? These are ugly times, Rysta, the wounds are still open and festering. It will be a few years ere we may speak of openness.”

J’Vanni looked up as he heard the door to their large apartment open. He waited to hear Delaes’ voice, and became puzzled when he did not. It was never good when Delaes was quiet.

“Are there no more transports heading south?” asked J’Vanni as he stepped into the living room. He paused, cocking his head at the man he saw before him; a man he knew, one he had not been expecting, but who was not unwelcome in his home. He bowed formally and politely.

“Welcome to my home. Had I known you were…”

The words died on his lips as he saw two other men appear, one holding a Long-Muzzled Night Stalker gun. J’Vanni Dei Syncopius watched as the massive weapon was raised and aimed directly at his head. The muzzle seemed as large and damning as a black hole. The gentle composer stared, unable to move, having not the first idea how to react. There was a loud ‘clack’ of the weapon being cocked, and J’Vanni began to shake.

“Bye bye, Grey Boy,” said the man with the gun.

Rysta came tearing out of the kitchen and leapt at the man, grabbing the gun. J’Vanni’s first instinct was to flee, but there was nowhere to go. He darted back and forth like a bird in a cage, then spied Rysta’s sepulchord. He snatched up the weighty device and brought it down full force on one of the attackers. Then there was a tremendous explosion. The world turned red, then black, and J’Vanni dropped to the floor.

***---***

Dahli did not know how she had managed to cross the transit route. But there had been no other way to go that she could see, so she had plunged headlong into the traffic, somehow managing to make it across all four lanes without being flattened. She didn't have a plan or a direction; her only thought was to go where the guards wouldn't likely follow. She headed straight across the uneven grass of the vacant field beyond the road to a low, artificial knoll in the earth. Housed in the side of the knoll was a narrow storm drain, and with no hesitation she bolted down it. She became momentarily trapped in the entrance, and for a wild moment, she had visions of being stuck there, helpless, waiting for her captors to come get her. Then she jammed through, falling down the short drop and banging her knees on the hard floor. She was bruised and scraped, but she would not feel it for awhile. Right now all of her attention was focused on getting as far away from the Centre as she could.

She heard the rain begin with a mighty crash somewhere outside of the drain, but she did not think much of it. She had other problems, larger ones. The light had all but failed a few short feet into the tunnel, and she now found herself trying to run in darkness. She stumbled full force into walls, her feet slipping on the slimed floor. There was no way to tell where she was going, no forward or backward, or even up or down. She guided herself by trailing the tips of her fingers along the walls, following them as best she could. She kept on into the dark and silence, heading far away from the Centre and into the eerie void just beneath Second City.

The rain fell. Dahli was now walking slowly and carefully down the tunnels as the water began to rise. She was not afraid, not yet. But time wore on, and she was becoming painfully aware that the hours were slipping by, and there was no shaft of light to let her know of a place to allow her to escape the artificial night. The water was flowing at her ankles now. Dahli's legs felt so tired that she thought they were going to collapse. She had to stop wandering and sit for a time, even if it was in the water.

Dahli sat unceremoniously in the mire. Her hair hung lank and damp, wet from the murky water that dripped from a ceiling she could not see. Her clothes were soaked through, and her feet were beginning to feel strange and numb from being wet and cold too long. She sniffed and wiped at her nose, feeling the water gently push at her as it flowed on to other things, caring nothing for her plight. Dahli closed her eyes, trying to determine what she felt. Nothing. She wasn't frightened, she wasn't sad or depressed. She knew she could die down here; she had become all too aware of her mortality lately. Better to die in the drain, in the dark, than back in the Centre. Dahli thought about Shae Wharren and wondered where he was. She didn't think she wanted to know.

She swatted at the invisible water that dripped onto her head, then let her hand fall into the stuff that swirled around her. She began hearing voices speaking in her head, saying different things, most unconnected with what was currently occurring. She heard Czamkiar complaining about his white hair, wanting to change the colour to purple or something equally abhorrent. Duone Bathers chastising her for not doing her work, her mother calling her in for supper when she was still very little.

`I'm going mad,' she thought. Then, clear as a bell, she heard Diza say; "Well it has to go somewhere!"

They had both been very little. They were playing with a hideously dangerous Kyphisian leg trap, buried into the concrete of a shattered building. They were dropping twigs into the device, watching the tiny razors lining the small hole disintegrate the sticks. Diza was wondering where the wood splinters were disappearing to, as there did not seem to be any left over when the blades stopped whirring. This question still had not been resolved when Teirra found them and made them get away from the thing, but Dahli could still hear Diza's young voice insisting, "Well it has to go somewhere!"

The phrase rolled around in her brain, not fading. She trailed her fingers in the water, which was rising higher still. Seated as she was, it now flowed around her hips, still running on to other places, as she had been. `Well it has to go someplace,' she thought again, then suddenly snapped out of her reverie. The water was most definitely running someplace, which was probably the ocean. This was rain water, not sewage; it would either go into the city reservoirs or, if the reservoirs were full, the ocean. Dahli stood up and began following the water.

She lost all track of time, all her thoughts wrapped up in following the water to its destination. She began to see light, little by little, seeping in from somewhere. Able to finally see where she was going, she began to run, plunging through the knee-deep water. She saw the vague outline of the drain opening ahead, and she charged for it. Suddenly however, the floor was no longer there as she fell into the channel cut into the floor, dropping into a massive cistern. She fought her way to the surface, gasping in a breath of air. She paddled like a rat in the fast-moving water, feeling herself being washed along against her will. Then suddenly she was spat into a great flood of water, falling with the rest of the excess into a second huge reservoir. She found herself briefly under water, but then she bobbed up, coughing and sneezing. She swam to the edge of the concrete tank, grabbing hold of the edge and pulling herself out. She tumbled three feet to grassy earth and lay there in the rain, coughing, waiting for her heart to stop banging.

“Well that escape plan sucked,” she croaked, and slowly sat up to see where she was.

The lights of the city glittered off to her left, sparkling different colours in the encroaching night. Before her the waves of Shepherd’s Strait washed gently against the shore, smooth and tranquil, separating Second City from the Mainland. Across the way, like a distant beacon, shone the bright lights of Avalair, calling across the water to her sister city.

Dahli looked down at her filthy, soaking-wet clothes. She would need a change. Even if she was not wet and muddy, what she had on was definitely not the sort of thing people wore of their own volition. She couldn't go home, there would be people waiting for her. She needed trinta for the hydrotrans, clean clothes, and shoes. There had to be...

Diza. She would go to Diza's house. Maybe they would not think of looking for her there. Dahli rose to her feet and set off for the dim lights of Second City.

***---***

The sky was just beginning to lighten as she reached Diza's house. She was exhausted, her legs and feet ached, and she was so cold she felt certain she was going to die, feeling her body weaken. She was thankful that Diza's bedroom was on the ground floor, and she didn't have to climb through anything. The house was dark and silent, and no one seemed to be lurking about. She made her way over to Diza's window and slid it open, crawling into the room. Diza sat up and blinked sleepily at the muddy, ragged thing in her room. Dahli sat on the floor, breathing heavily.

"Long walk from the Centre to here. Got a cigarette?"

"Dahli? What are you doing here? Half the city is looking for you. Are you all right?"

"I don't know. I'm so tired I could cry, and I'm filthy. I came to ask if I could borrow some clothes and money. I have to get out of the city."

"Yeah, sure." Diza got out of her bed and walked over to the large wardrobe in her room. She went through her drawers, finding Dahli what she needed, including a good pair of boots she no longer wore. "Will these do?"

"Perfect," said Dahli. "Now, if I could just have a bath."

"Go for it," said Diza. "Dad has left for work, so there's just us. Have a bath, I'll make you something for breakfast."

"Don't turn any lights on," said Dahli. "I didn't see anyone watching the house, but that doesn't mean there isn't anyone out there. If they see lights going on all over the place after they know your dad is gone, they may start to wonder."

Diza nodded. She looked scared, Dahli noticed, and who could blame her. Dahli wasn't sure how well she herself could have dealt with an escaped friend climbing in through her window at this hour of the morning. She reached out and hugged Diza hard, then let her go, moving low under the windows towards the bathroom, starting a bath. A half hour later Dahli walked into the kitchen, clean and dressed. She sat at the table and proceeded to swallow her breakfast, Diza watching with fascination.

"Wow, is that ever disgusting."

"Whaf?" said Dahli, her mouth full.

"Your eating habits. Did you take a class in bad eating habits?"

"The whole place is a class in bad habits." said Dahli, and kept eating.

Diza picked at her own breakfast, feeling nervous, as though she expected the entire Second City Legal Enforcement Department to come through the door at any moment. Dahli happened to glance up and catch the look.

"Wishing I hadn't shown up?"

Diza jumped, then turned her gaze to Dahli. "Yes and no. You know I'd do anything for you, but frankly, I'm a coward."

"What makes you think I'm not?" Dahli kept shovelling food into her mouth until the plate was cleared. "Besides, you're as brave as you need to be."

Diza smiled slightly. "I suppose. It was just a nasty thought, and I'm sorry. I want to help you anyway I can."

"You've done all you can." said Dahli, standing up and putting her plate in the sink. She stared at it for a moment, then washed and dried it. "No use leaving signs all over the place," she said as she put the plate away. "Thanks for the clothes. I'll write to you when things have calmed down a little."

Diza stood up, concerned. "Am I ever going to see you again?"

"I honestly don't know." Dahli shook her head. "Yes, probably. I just have to get to a place where I can better think over how to deal with this."

"Dahli, what happened?"

Dahli shook her head. "Some other time. I have to go. I promise, as soon as I can, I'll give you all the details. I know you like a good horror story."

Diza narrowed her eyes. "I'm concerned. I don't want to know if you don't want to tell me."

Dahli sighed. "I know, I'm sorry. I'm just a little stressed right now." She looked out the window at the brightening day. "Great, how am I supposed to get anywhere in broad daylight?" Then she turned her eyes to Diza. "I need a pair of scissors, some hair paint, and make-up."

An hour later, Dahli crept out Diza's window, looking very different than she had when she crawled in. Her hair was now dark brown, and very short. Her fair skin had been painted dark, and with careful artistry, she had changed her appearance drastically. She now appeared to be a woman from the South Continent, one a bit older than a mere sixteen. Teirra wouldn't have recognised her, and, secure in her disguise, Dahli began walking down the long winding street that would eventually take her to the hydrotrans. She felt better for her rest and breakfast, but her eyes kept wanting to close, and the bag of things Diza had given her felt heavy. But she kept on. She had a long way to go before nightfall.

***---***

Delaes was talking to Donselle Marist, she being the best person to pump for information regarding pregnancy. Fortunately it was a subject she was only too happy to discuss. His only other option would be to look up Faylan breeders and he didn’t think he could bring himself to do that. She already had a set of very young twins, as well as the infamous Miski, and was expecting another pair – a feat that had earned her free housing in an area of Avalair away from the toxic ash, as well a comfortable life paid for out of Imperial funds. No healthy woman who could produce lively and happy infants naturally was obligated to work to support them. Of course there was the matter of Marist being the only woman in Avalair able to have children.

She and Delaes had been friend almost from the moment they met, though they had very different lifestyles, she couldn't stand his music, and didn't have any of his cylinders. Her only complaint was her bedroom was directly beneath his recording studio. She didn’t mind when J’Vanni sat and composed half the night; she didn’t hear him at all. But the best sound buffers in the world did not keep the famed Randerick vocals from penetrating her sleep. The sound proofing between his floor and her ceiling was extensive.

"Would you like more tea?" she asked, and immediately Delaes bounced up to make it for her.

“I’ll get it,” he said.

"Delaes," said Marist. "The idea was that I would get it for you."

"Well I realise that but I never get to do anything for you I really ought to come by more often or better yet why don't you come up and have dinner some night bring the family we don't have one and it would be good for Gia to be around children he's so stagnant." He brought her a cup of tea, then bent and kissed her face. "Speaking of Gia I have to get home he'll be wondering about me.”

“Tell him it was my fault, I forced you to stay here and drink tea. Oh! And tell him Miski will be late for his music lesson tomorrow, we’re going to the doctor for a check up.”

“All right I’ll let him know and if you need anything come knock see you later."

Delaes stepped into the lift which would bring him up to his own flat, the device quickly bringing him to his own door. He opened it, stepped into the room, then stopped. Three men stared back at him, standing over two bloodied bodies. Delaes could not see the faces of the fallen, but the bloodied silver hair was enough to tell him who the body used to be.

He slammed the lift door shut and hit the button for the lowest floor, dropping to the floor with his arms over his head as the decorative glass and steel doors were shattered by the enormous power of the night stalker gun. When the lift finally stopped, Delaes bolted out of it, hearing the door of the second lift directly beside it open. A second blast narrowly missed him, searing the leather of his jacket. Suddenly Delaes' body recalled its Faylan heritage. He fled at an incredible rate, tearing out of the building and down the street. He rounded a corner and came to a high fence. Without thought he tore straight for it, gathered himself together and leaped, catching the top of the eight-foot fence, swinging over the top and dropping to the ground in one motion. He hit the pavement running, knowing exactly where he was heading as he dove into a broken water pipe, one purposely exposed to help catch overflow from storm drains. His boots splashed in the shallow water as he ran, dodging and turning down a maze of pipes that would have confused a rat. The only light he had to go by was from small sewer grids above him. He continued to follow the pipes as they began to slope down, heading towards enormous underground cisterns. When he reached the first cistern he dove into it, heading down into the black water, the small amount of light left behind on the surface. He made his way to a pipe that led to the second cistern, following it into the second tank, then shooting to the surface, gasping, listening to the darkness, every muscle tense.

Nothing. At least not yet.

Delaes swam to the edge of the cistern and crawled out, running with water. Without thinking he rose up on all fours and shook like an animal, then got to his feet and kept running. He was on home ground now; deep in the heart of the underground water pipes that broke their way into ancient catacombs. Here he had lived and fought during the war, and he knew every square inch of this place. Even if he was followed, it was unlikely he would be caught

Ahead he saw the pipe branch off in two different directions. With no hesitation Delaes turned right, finding a doorway. He darted into it and slammed the door behind himself, barring it. He stood trembling, sweat running down his body, staring into the room he had occupied for so long before the Revolution had ended. Gradually, as he calmed, he looked around at the room. Once it had been almost cosy, decorated with quaint bits of stolen things, items donated by friends, and things he had made himself. Things that now all sat in a box in his apartment, which was unquestionably being ransacked. Delaes sat on the floor and looked at the ten by ten room. The walls were still painted cheery pink, the floor still soft grey. Everything else was gone.

Suddenly he heard something in the tunnel and he instinctively dropped to the floor, flattening himself, though he knew he could not be seen through the closed door no matter what position he was in. He covered his nose and mouth with his wet leather jacket so he would not be heard panting, and listened.

“I can’t see a thing!” called a voice.

“Look he had to have come this way. He was a sniper during the war, he knows these tunnels as well as we do.”

“Better,” said a third voice, one Delaes knew instantly. His eyes began huge, and he felt a lump of bile churn in his stomach.

“You monster,” he whispered. “How could you?”

“Well if he was a sniper then why are we hunting him? The Grey Boy, sure, but why go after one of our own?”

“He’s not one of our own, he’s a freak,” said the third voice. “Things are bad enough for our people right now, we don’t need Grey Boys and half-breed Faylans breeding freakish half-animals and using up resources we can’t spare. Come on, he must have gone this way.”

Delaes huddled on the floor, listening as the trio departed for the other pipe. His eyes filled with tears, and he drew a shuddering breath as cold reality slowly gripped him, and the images of Rysta and own his beautiful, gentle husband lying on the floor in a pool of blood rose up to fill his mind. He drew a second shuddering gasp, and began to weep.

“You weaselling little monster I will kill you I swear by all that I have lost I will kill you.”

***---***

Draephus stared hard at Tricale, who was seated across the room from him. Draephus was in bed, weak and tired from the previous day's excitement. He wasn't too terribly happy with Tricale at the moment, as Newark had been found dead during the night.

"I asked you to watch him."

Tricale shrugged. "This way I won't have to. You'll know what he's doing thirty-two hours a day."

“Did you have to make it so obvious?"

"It wasn't obvious. I thought it looked rather natural." Tricale smiled slightly.

"The man was found clutching a suicide note, hand written by somebody else, dead on the floor after having his head slammed repeatedly in the oven door."

"Poor man was obviously quite distraught."

"I would be too if someone was slamming my head with an oven door." Draephus closed his eyes, sinking deeper into the pillows. "No matter, I suppose. I can pay you to take a holiday down to Anth, they have some festival they throw every year going on right now. Take along your favourite person, if you have one."

"I do." said Tricale, rising to her feet. "One in very good health, may I add." Then he left the huge bedroom.

Draephus lay in bed, hating the man. He vowed never to contact him again, wondering why he had once spent so much time with him. Tricale had seemed such good company a long time ago. Either one of them had gotten crazier, or one of them had gone sane. Perhaps it was merely a case of one of them not noticing the war was over.

Draephus had been up much of the night, screaming at various individuals. Wardhead Shayer had been one of them, and he had virtually rolled over and urinated on himself in order to appease Draephus, something Teirra had greatly enjoyed watching. Obviously, people in the Centre worked on the assumption that most of the youths in there had no one to care for them. Certainly no one there seemed to have been braced for a dual attack by the girl's sister and some used-up revolutionary.

Draephus rolled onto his side in an attempt to get away from Dahli, but she did not leave his mind. He thought about her a lot lately. He kept recalling the girl watching the jungle lamps blink on and off in Mars' garden, and how innocent she was. He had seen too much that was innocent die, and the thought of something bad happening to her made him physically ill. Granted, he barely knew her, but at this point in time that hardly seemed to matter. He wasn't sure what did matter, except he had the weird feeling that at least some of this was his fault, and he wanted to make it right. In the course of a few hours, he had the rest of her sentence dropped, and, albeit rather inadvertently, Newark murdered. He had also stumbled across a boy named Shae Wharren, who seemed to have a great deal to say on what had occurred during the hostage incident, and about what Dahli hadn't done. The media was tearing the Centre to bits, along with the High Courts. When the dust finally settled, it was quite likely some people would find themselves in cells very like the ones they had lorded over.

The bright light of the day shone through the multi-paned stained glass windows of Draephus' bedroom, but could not penetrate the heavy drapes about his bed, or his dark mood. Everything was going along so nicely, save for one problem. Nobody could find Dahli. He was having visions of her having headed off to the South Continent, never to be seen again. This was not a concern he had voiced to Teirra, who was already upset without him bringing up new thoughts to distress her.

The bed was deep and warm, and despite the emotional storm in his brain, Draephus found himself giving away to sleep. He had done all he could to make life right for Dahli, screaming at everyone he could to fix the situation. The letters she had written had been found in Newark's desk, like some sort of trophy. Draephus had them now, uncertain as to what he should do with them. They sat in his nightstand drawer, ready to be pulled out should they be needed. There was nothing left to do, save hope that Dahli turned up somewhere, someday.

Draephus rolled to his stomach and sighed, tired but unable to quiet his brain. The bed shifted, and he felt one of the Faylans pacing on all fours on the bed, looking for a comfortable spot to sleep. It stepped on him twice, and this was enough to tell Draephus it was Czanda. He snorted loudly in his ear, then thumped down, body half-on Draephus, who wondered how long he would be able to put up with this. It certainly wasn't helping him get to sleep. Finally he threw back the covers, pushing Czanda off of his back, and staggered out of the room. He had a bottle of Doven's Smokey Mushroom in the hall closet, and if that stuff couldn't make his brain shut up, then nothing could. He found the bottle and was stumbling back to bed when he heard Raski come tearing up the stairs with a newspaper. Draephus was certain he was about to get yelled at for drinking, but Raski had something else on his mind.

"This is a bloody travesty! This is insane! How could something like this happen, how can we live in a world where things like this occur?"

Draephus made his way over to the bed, getting into it. "Raski, calm down, what..."

"Calm down, the man says! This is a bloody emergency!"

Draephus rubbed his eyes, then sighed. "I'm sure it won't escalate to that point. Raski, I'm sure we'll find Dahli before things get too bad."

"Dahli? This isn't about Dahli...don't you ever read the paper?”

"Rarely. Why, what happened?"

"WHAT HAPPENED?! VORTEX HAPPENED! THEIR NEW SONG IS CURRENTLY MORE POPULAR THAN OURS! THEY FINALLY LET STRAIF MANNECHEK WRITE A SONG, AND IT'S BEATING OURS TO DEATH! A LOVE SONG, NO LESS! I'M GONNA BE ILL! WE'VE BEEN HUMILIATED!"

Draephus stared at his friend. "Great Rask, just what I needed to cheer me up."

Raski looked chagrined, lowering the paper. “Sorry. It’s stupid I know but… you know me.”

He smiled. “Yeah. Come lie down, keep me and the Faylans company.”

Raski did, slipping into bed beside Draephus and resting his head on his chest, resting an arm across his waist. They had just made themselves comfortable when Raski’s mobile ‘com rang. He swore quietly and took it out of his pocket, opening it.

“Heia? Oh. Hi Dr. Arang.” He rolled lazily onto his back, listening. “Oh you do? Well what’s the result? Immediate quarantine?” Suddenly his eyes grew large and he sat up. “You’re joking me.” He listened, jaw hanging, and reached out one hand blindly, feeling for Draephus’ arm and squeezing it. “I’m…? Th… thanks for calling. I… really appreciate it. Thank you.”

Raski closed the ‘com, his entire body beginning to shake. Draephus slowly sat up.

“Raski? Baby are you okay?” He swallowed, forcing down a feeling of dread. “What did Dr. Arang say?”

Raski closed his eyes and breathed deeply. “I… I’m clean. I’m the cleanest male on the island. I have X-82 and that’s it. I can… I can stop worrying about if the next time I wake up I’m going to still have full use of my body. I can stop taking the preventative medications. They’re going to wean me off the more potent ones and let my system adjust and if I want to then we can start talking…”

Raski began wheezing heavily. Draephus rolled his eyes, reaching out to draw him close.

“Dammit can you please just not do this to me every time you get good news? And now the tears, that’s just scruffin’ lovely.” He was grinning as he said it, and pressed a soft kiss to his face, letting Raski cry. X-82. That was it. That meant any sons Raski had would be sterile, but his daughters would all be healthy and fully functional. And they were not currently lacking males.

“I’m happy for ya, Rask. I really am,” Draephus said softly. “We’ll put the pictures from your first sonogram on the next album cover.”

***---***

She didn’t know she had left the hydrotrans at the wrong exit.

A person familiar with the area could have told her, of course, but Dahli was currently avoiding people. Avalair had two ports. One was in the destroyed area of the city, and the craft would stop there briefly to pick up any refugees who had made their way to the dock. Further down the shore was a second dock, where passengers could get off in the safer, more habitable area. Had she debarked there, she would have quickly found the road leading out of the city to the rural areas. Soon she would have been amidst streams choked with ash, but already showing signs of recovery. Tiny brightly coloured fish called Speckle Fish would be burrowing in the mire, laying eggs, feeding on the algae, gradually wearing away the sludge so larger plants and aquatic creatures could move in. New trees and plants would be coming up through the burned and bombed areas, and redweed, which was always the first plant to reappear after a fire, would be colouring the landscape with brilliant red and dark shining green.

Instead she stepped off the small ship and into a world of silent grey death.

She had heard the description ‘Avalair Grey’, and she could recite the lyrics to the song from memory. It was one of her favourites, though she admitted readily she didn’t understand many of the references. But as she stood shin deep in the distinctive blue-grey ash, that song came slamming home to her, and she understood it in a way she never had before.

She began walking slowly, mentally picturing how the snipers would lay down in the ash, rolling in it until they were the same colour, then sink down like strange monsters, peering through grey-streaked masks, waiting for hours or even days for the enemy to appear. Delaes Randerick would have been one of them, she knew. She had heard him mention it in interviews often enough, though she had a very hard time picturing him sitting still for so long. She’d seen him live on stage once; a skinny little figure clad in black running relentlessly back and forth while he sang, until Rysta stopped playing and told him to stand still because he was giving him motion sickness. It was odd to think she was walking where once he had fought.

A strange moaning wail started up, like the mournful cry of some enormous demon in its final death throes. It hung in the air and lingered like a snow-laden cloud, dark, low and ominous. Then it stopped. A few minutes later a second one began, further away, and from a different direction. She had heard these in the song as well; warning sirens, telling anyone in the area that the fires were shifting. The trick now was to avoid them. Well how hard could that be? Fire should show up no problem! Then from somewhere in the back of her mind, she heard Delaes’ voice sing to her.

“Silently beneath our sleeping bodies the serpent comes for us,
And as we lie then so we die, and the demon-fire sates its lust…”

‘UNDERGROUND fires, Sandiniti,’ Dahli reminded herself. ‘The fires are UNDER the ground.’ She permitted herself a moment of smug satisfaction. And Duone Bathers swore no one ever learned anything lying around and listening to music. Pompous self-satisfied clart-sack.

“Okay,” she said aloud. “Just… stay away from the sirens and… keep an eye out for anything you could fall into.”

She gazed around at the sea of grey. Much easier said than done, it seemed, and already she could feel the ash settling into her nose and mouth. She set down her bag and dug through it, finding a light scarf she had grabbed, vaguely aware that she would be crossing Avalair and it would be covered in ash. She wrapped it around her nose and mouth, then took out a pair of goggles she had brought for the same reason, fitting them over her eyes. Then she closed up her bag and looked around for something to use to test the ground ahead of her. She kicked aside the ash, but that did no good. She had to get down on her knees and feel. She grimaced, hoping she didn’t find a body. She did find something, however; it was… sorta soft and… kinda round…

A head shot up out of the ash. Dahli shrieked and fell back onto her butt, shaking in terror at the strange monster with a long nose and enormous baleful eyes. Then a hand came up and removed the mask, and Dahli exhaled a huge sigh of relief. The man she had awakened stared at her.

“Excuse me but do I come ‘round and feel your bottom when you are asleep?”

“Sorry. I was looking for something to use as a walking stick.”

“Oh.” He felt around in the ash, then picked something up. “Here. It’s the barrel off a night stalker gun. That should do.”

“Thanks.” She accepted the five foot length of metal. “Hey if I wanted to get out of the city, where would I go?”

“Dock’s right there.”

“I meant the other side of the city.”

“Then I suggest you learn to fly. Avalair is cut in half by fire, you can’t get there from here. Not unless you feel like trying the old army bridge they strung across some of the buildings in the center of the city. But I don’t recommend it.”

“I have to try,” she said quietly.

“Then walk lightly.”

She nodded, and smiled. “Thanks. Uh… sleep well.”

He grinned at her, then pulled his mask back on, settling into the soft ash once more. Dahli rose to her feet and began slowly making her way into the heart of Avalair, using her gun barrel to gently prod the ground before her.

Dahli’s first thought when she reached the center of the city was that ash-guy could have at least told her WHY he did not recommend coming this way. Then again he likely assumed she had half a brain and would know the place was an inferno.

The universe really did hate her, didn’t it?

She stood on top of a building, gazing down fifteen stories at what she could only call lava. She had no idea how it got there; Avalair was not known for its volcanoes, but there it was none the less, following narrow trenches in the street, spitting, hissing and emitting a stench like some unholy monster’s unclean bathroom. Delaes could have told her it was the result of some sort of thermal device the Kyphisians had created, which Sferkkaa freedom fighters had managed to detonate while it was still in the enemy’s underground lair, but the information would hardly help her to cross it. She eyed the chain and cable bridge leading from one building to the next with trepidation, slowly approaching it, staring down at the metal planks. It seemed solid. But how to be sure?

She was tugging on the bridge to be certain it would hold her when she heard a noise behind her; a sort of slavering, snuffling noise. Dahli froze, listening to the sound of paws on the roof, slowly turning her head to see three very large and obviously starving feralykes. They normally ate fish, and reports of them attacking people on their own for the purposes of devouring them were few and far between. But these three looked like they would take what they could get. Their last meal was probably a distant memory.

Dahli stared at the feralykes. The feralykes stared back, growling, their ribs showing through their singed and dirty hides. Without warning, one lunged for her. Dahli scrambled to her feet and ran for her life, tearing across the swinging bridge, reaching the end and racing across the roof top to the second bridge. She could hear the animals tearing after her, paws scrabbling over the flat tar and gravel roof. She hit the second bridge and ran across it, still hearing paws tearing after her. Then she crossed the third and final bridge, and… the paws stopped. She skidded to a halt and looked back the way she had come, and was puzzled to notice the feralykes had not followed her across the third bridge. She stared at the starving animals.

“What’s wrong with you guys?” she asked.

The animals stared at her, then one yipped and fled back across the second bridge. Dahli sighed.

“That can’t possibly be good,” she mumbled.

Slowly she turned and gazed around the rooftop. She did not have difficulty spotting the thing that had terrified the feralykes. It was a dragonbird. She knew that without ever having seen one in real life ever before. Every Sferkkaan child had a storybook with a dragonbird in it. They were magnificent creatures that had spawned the image of the Imperial gryphons that adorned the old palaces and the Mortified Gryphons band logo. Legend had it that once, thousands of years ago, Sferkkaa had clear skies and a sun that shone down, and the dragonbirds brought the light to the planet. But an arrogant nobleman tried to capture the sun for his own purposes, and thus they were closed off from its warming rays, and the dragonbirds had been trapped on their world until such time as the sun chose to shone again.

The creature stared at Dahli with cold eyes the colour of gold, and the massive curved beak for rending flesh was less then a hand span from her face. Feathers the colour of fire formed a great crest on the enormous cranium, and Dahli could not help but notice the magnificent creature’s head was roughly the same size as her entire torso. It was a male; she could tell by the red and blue tips on his crest feathers, and by how tall the crest was. Males and females shared nest duty, and he was firmly planted on a collection of debris roughly the size of Draephus’ conni. Under him would be two cream coloured eggs, and somewhere above him would be their mother, scanning the area for food.

“I’m gonna die,” said Dahli, watching as the huge crest slowly raised straight up.

The bird cocked his head, and made an inquisitive noise, then puffed up his feathers and shook. He didn’t seem aggressive, but maybe he just hadn’t decided whether or not he wanted to eat her. He stretched his neck out and picked at her bag. Curious, Dahli slowly opened it, and saw Diza had packed her a whole roast chicken. Brilliant. No wonder the feralykes had chased her. Diza’s father would have a fit when he got home and found the thing gone. Slowly Dahli pulled it out.

“You want this?” she asked, offering him the chicken.

He accepted it graciously. She couldn’t help but think the animal was at least semi-tame. He certainly was not afraid of her. Perhaps he had once been kept as a pet. She knew that several military outfits had kept a dragonbird or two as mascots; it seemed likely he had once been one. Either way Dahli did not much care, so long as he was not trying to eat her. Gingerly she bent down to pick up one of his fallen feathers, then reached out to touch the great golden beak. It was smooth and hard, but warm. She smiled.

“You’d need one big bird cage, and a whole lot of newspapers.”

He made a quite noise of agreement, then looked up. Fortunately Dahli did the same thing, and thus was able to see the mother dragonbird bearing straight down at her. Dahli shrieked and fled, feeling the force of the wind of the enormous bird’s passing. She ran for the far side of the roof, catching hold of a fire escape ladder and headed for the ground as quickly as she could, glancing up to see if the mother dragonbird was coming back for another pass. There was no sign of her. Apparently she was satisfied that the interloper was gone. Dahli paused on the ladder and looked down, all too aware that the ground beneath the ash could well be nothing more than partially-molten mire upon which the ash was resting.

She reached over her shoulder and took hold of her walking stick, pulling it forth and using it to prod the ground. She heard satisfying thuds. It felt solid. Slowly she climbed down off the ladder and began cautiously moving forward, testing the ground, but it was safe. She found only one more area of lava, but it was little more than a few listless threads, and no longer flowing. Soon they would be crusted over. Dahli managed to hop over them, feeling a few moments of utter terror as a couple of the places she hopped onto were not as solid as she would have liked. Still by the time she reached safety she had survived with only slightly melted boot souls, and a second pass by the mother dragonbird to make certain Dahli knew not to come around and flirt with her husband ever again. She had fire-walked the heart of Avalair, and come through unscathed, despite lava and feralykes and dragonbirds. Elated, she turned and kept on her way. She needed to find a safe place to sleep for a few hours, then she would continue on her journey.

***---***

Dahli reached the outskirts of Avalair by daybreak, and by mid-morning had left the destroyed city far behind. The landscape was a series of lumps and hummocks, churned up by war machines. The knolls had become covered in vegetation once more, and occasionally Dahli walked passed the carcasses of Kyphisian machines. They lay in the grass like strange, dead animals, light-eyes staring blackly ahead in death. Sometimes she would stop to look at them, touching their cold bodies. She would clear the grass away and watch confused insects flee, their homes disturbed. The bugs were almost as interesting as the carcasses they infested. Rising to her feet, Dahli continued on her way.

The sun was setting behind the cloud cover, and Dahli sat in the shadowless early twilight, eating some of the fruit she had brought from Diza’s house. She was almost blind with exhaustion, and all she wanted was to find a place to curl up and go to sleep. She had grown so used to hearing no human voices that when she heard the man speak, it frightened her. She jumped, all senses becoming alert. She listened hard, but heard nothing that stirred fear in her heart.

"No, not over there, you stupid animal. Hey. Stupid. This way. No, not there, you can eat redweed any day, it ain't going nowhere. Oh, fine, have it. Just don't drop me this time."

Dahli watched as a man rode into view on a tall destrider; a very badly behaved one. The leggy creature shook its thin, almost conical head, nocturnal eyes huge. It turned circles, paws scraping up the dust from the road, all attention on the redweed and none on its rider. Finally getting its way, the beast walked over to the low, blood-coloured shrub and began to chew. The ageing South Continental man sat on its back, trying hard not to be amused at the creature. It chattered away as it ate, making small laughing noises in its high voice. The man patted the beast's long thin neck, smoothing down velvet-black fur.

"You're a stupid animal, yeah, you are. If I had any sense, I'd throw you into the ocean. Let the fish get you. Faylan meat, that's all you are."

The destrider didn't seem too concerned with any of these threats. It chuckled and swished its tail, eating the redweed down to the ground.

"Okay, that's the end of it. Let's go home. You been stuffing your pointy face all day, now I want to stuff my pointy face. Now what, you dumb animal?"

The destrider suddenly swung its thin head towards Dahli, large diamond-shaped ears perked, long whiskers moving forwards as it sniffed.

"What do you see?” The man looked, spying Dahli with pale blue eyes. “Oh, that ain't nothing to be afraid of, just a skinny girl. Hey, Skinny, what you doing way out here?"

Dahli swallowed, frightened but trying hard not to show it. "Just out for a walk."

"Some walk, Skinny. Avalair is a long way from here, and I know all the people who live in this area. You ain't one of them. Course, if you take walks like that often, could be why you're so skinny."

"I'm not skinny," said Dahli, fear becoming balanced by annoyance.

"Suit yourself, Skinny. You going to walk all the way back to Avalair, you better hurry, it's gonna rain on you."

On Sferkkaa, where the rain was constant, no one said it was going to rain unless it was going to storm in torrents. Dahli glanced up at the sky. "How can you tell?" she demanded.

"Cause I'm old and ugly, and that means I'm always right. Gonna rain all over your head."

"Is not."

"Suit yourself, Skinny. I'm going home for my evening meal. You wanna come? There's so little of you that one good blow and you'd fly back to Avalair."

"I'll be fine," she said.

"Okay. You like being wet and skinny, that's your business. You get sick of the rain, you come by my place. Just go straight down the road a little ways, I'm in the cabin on the left hand-side. Only cabin there."

Dahli watched the man turn the destrider around and ride off. She followed him with her eyes until he was out of sight, then she lay down on the warm grass. Over her head, the sky gradually darkened. She would be just fine. The old man could wait up all night if he liked, she would be just fine where she was. A few moments later, Dahli fell asleep.

The sheer violence of the rain fall woke her a short time later, and she sat up with a cry. She was soaked right through her clothes, and she stared down at herself for a long moment, the rain streaming down on top of her.

"Why is this happening?" she asked aloud as the thunder crashed. She sighed heavily as she rose, picking up her bag. She wandered down the weed-grown road to the old man's cabin, whimpering and grumbling, her bag dragging along behind her.

It took her a little over an hour to find the small, ramshackle house. It sat by itself, surrounded by bushes and trees. The remains of a fence encircled it, covered in rot and moss. A group of feralykes, four in all, raised their heads and watched her from their vantage point on the dilapidated old porch. Ancient fruit trees, bent and gnarled, grew in a clump near what was the edge of the weedy yard. The stairs leading up to the shack were tilted and cracked. It was the most deserted-looking house Dahli had ever seen.

The feralykes made no unfriendly moves as she walked towards the house, but she kept a watchful eye on them anyway. She climbed the four small steps, walking past the feralykes to the door. As she reached it, she saw a light shining from behind the heavy shades, and she relaxed a little. She had not been looking forward to waking the man up to ask for shelter. She knocked at the door.

There came a stirring from within, then the sound of approaching footsteps. The feralykes rose to their feet at the sound, eyes bright and expectant. Then the door opened, and there stood the old man. He stared at Dahli for along moment, then snorted in amusement.

"Only plants stand in the rain, Skinny. Come on in."

Dahli entered the shack, then paused. The room she now found herself in was a sea of chickens. The birds perched everywhere, sitting on the backs of chairs and eating out of dishes set on the floor. She slowly surveyed the room, eyes huge. One of the reddish birds hopped onto her bag and gawked at her stupidly.

"That's No-Toe," said the man. "See, she's missing one. I'm Harli. What do they call you?"

Dahli started as the man asked her name, and she stared at him for a terrified moment, at a loss as to what to say. He gazed back, then picked up her bag.

"I'll just put this away, and give you a moment to make one up."

Dahli cursed herself under her breath, then walked into the small kitchen. Sitting down on a chair, she sighed heavily, then glanced about the room. Chickens were perched everywhere, and she rose slightly to examine the chair she was on. Not seeing anything other than wood, she sat back down.

Harli walked back into the room, heading over to the stove and peering into a pot. "So what's your name?"

"Atania Nightwing," Dahli said, smiling slightly.

"That's a good one, better than I could come up with in a short time. You hungry? Should be, you're skinny enough."

"I'm fine the way I am!"

"Okay, be skinny, I don't care."

Dahli smiled, shaking her head. "Boy, you sure are rude."

"I'm old, I'm allowed. See, if you can be skinny, I can be old and rude. The chickens don't care. You play an instrument?"

Dahli rolled her eyes. It was just her luck to be born on a planet where everybody had to play some sort of instrument to be considered normal.

"No," she admitted, scuffing one food on the chicken-speckled floor.

The old man looked downright offended. "Well, what do you do with your time? Ever thought about learning?"

Dahli had the sinking feeling she was trapped in a cabin with a rude lunatic. "Yeah, from time to time. I’d kinda like to learn the drums.”

"Good, be good for you to learn. And if you don't like the drums, try something else, maybe the quinticord. You know who taught me to play quinticord? Philo Rae. You ever heard of him?"

"No."

"Course not. When he died you were probably still trying to master sticking a spoonful of mush into you ear. Philo Rae was the greatest quinticord player ever lived. I used to follow him all over the country. Biggest, ugliest Siriusian I ever saw. Face like his, he'd have to sound good. And when he sang that sound just welled up and came pouring out like it was its own animal. Tell you one thing; you gotta smell a whole lot of clart in your life before you can sing like that."

Dahli glanced about the kitchen, then said quietly; "Well, I'm smelling a whole lot now."

Harli stared at her for a long moment, then suddenly howled with laughter. "I guess you are, I guess you are. I like you, even if you are skinny. You can sleep in the spare bedroom upstairs. Don't worry, I don't let the chickens upstairs."

The upstairs of Harli's house was in considerably better shape than the downstairs. The furnishings were new and clean, untouched by chickens. The bathroom was clean as well; Dahli had been terrified to think what it may look like. She set her bag down on the floor and began running water into the bathtub, peeling off her clothes. Her hands were gloved in the dark skin paint, and her face wore a mask of it. She had to scrub several times before it all came off. She was tired, and not thinking clearly. She had struck fair skin again before she realised what she had done, and stared at her hands in horror.

"Oh clart," she muttered wearily. She didn't have any more of the paint. What was Harli going to say when he saw she had gone up Southern and came down Northern? She sat back in the tub and stared at the wall ahead, too tired to care at this point. She giggled helplessly for a few minutes, firmly convinced she was going to lose her mind. She ceased giggling, then had a good cry, tired, stressed and frightened. She never wanted to emerge from the tub again, but decided Harli was probably going to eventually want access to his bathroom. She got out of the tub, dried, and put on her only change of clean clothes, tossing the dirty ones into the bag.

Harli tapped on the bathroom door. "It's late, Skinny. You can use the spare bedroom at the end of the hall. I'm going to bed."

"Good night Harli," Dahli said, rubbing at one eye. "Thanks."

"That's all right, Skinny. Get to sleep."

"I'm not skinny."

"Suit yourself, Skinny."

Dahli listened to his footsteps fade off down the hallway, then heard the sound of his bedroom door closing. She turned off the bathroom light and walked to her own room, closing the door behind her. It was a small, simply furnished room, with a bed, dresser, and nightstand. The chamber was illuminated by a Jungle Lamp on the dresser, and its warm, creamy fragrance wafted to her. Dahli dropped her bag, then walked over to the bed, sitting on its edge. The window was open, and she could hear the rain beat down onto the ground. Dahli sat on the bed for a long time, just staring out into the rainy night, a weary smile on her face. It wasn’t home, but it was good.

***---***

Harli glanced up as Dahli entered the kitchen the next morning, and stared at her hard. Dahli stopped and looked back at him, blinking and trying hard to look innocent. It was a long time before anyone spoke.

"Are you going to change like that every time you take a bath? Cause if you are I don't know if I'm going to be able to get used to it."

Dahli smiled slightly. She figured Harli at the very least knew she had run away from somewhere, and without any more paint she could not continue to hide her coloration from him.

"That was a disguise. It washed off in the tub."

"And here I thought you was somebody respectable, and now I find out you're just one of them Mid-Northerners."

Dahli shrugged. "I guess so. Are you going to make me sleep with the chickens?"

"Don't make my chickens sleep with Northerners," said Harli. "Now you sit down and pick up that spoon and eat. You're too skinny."

Dahli picked up the spoon and muttered; "I am not."

"Suit yourself. It's still coming down in rivers outside, you're not going out in that stuff, are you?"

Dahli glanced out the small window. The rain beat down hard, turning the yard into slick, deep mud. She sighed.

"Oh great. How can I get any travelling done in that?"

Harli stirred his tea, studying her from across the table. Then he shrugged. "No matter, Skinny. You can stay here another day."

Dahli smiled. "Thanks, Chicken Man."

"Chicken Man!"

"Yeah. See if I can be skinny, you can be a chicken man."

Harli chuckled. "Yeah I guess you're right." He pushed the tea pot over to Dahli. She poured herself a cup, and for awhile they just sat together in silence and watched the rain fall.

Disclaimer:

All original fiction and the characters, places and situations with them are copyright Alyx Shaw, and may not be published, copied, distributed or archived without the author's prior written consent.

The characters, places and situations described in these stories are fictional unless otherwise stated in the story headings.

(C) 2008 Alyx Shaw