Signals in the mist
betray a sense of distrust.
Window to sandfall.
- Cardinal Keeper Viceroy
\\\ \\\ \|/ /// ///
[ split | one ]
City of Comcodasyera — District 9, The Sandstone: Two Years After the L-Bomb
A fog of dust covered the godforsaken labyrinth in which the District 9L, Cloris Windhere, found himself navigating. In the distance, the top of a silver domed roof that marked the center of the area could only just be seen through the dense miasma. He tried to keep the faint sparkle visible as he made his way toward it, but he knew the area more than well enough to know his way through blindfolded and tied. The shattered doors and windows he passed on his trek had been shuttered, barred, or otherwise held closed. The residents small attempts at avoiding the worst of the storm.
Windhere’s hands worked in unison to scrape the sand from his goggles. a light hanging by a few remaining straps hung off the side of them, barely emitting enough to cut through any of the sand in his way. The few faces he saw along the way were shaped by a mound of sand. He wouldn’t have recognized his own mother had he seen her along his trek. The wind only began hitting harder.
The 9-Mission shook ahead of him in the storm, the compact bricks threatening to shatter under the force of the wind. Sand scraped the side of the already destitute building, sanding down any of the rough edges that the Quarh’s hadn’t been paid enough to care resurfacing themselves. Even this close to the building, the silver roof barely gave off any presence. The capstone to the 9-Mission.
Once past the heavy doors, made heavier by the gale, Windhere marched to the back of the building and produced a key. Blunted by it’s time in the Sandstone, the key required a steady hand to be kept in just the right position to push down the small pins that guarded the contents of the history room. After a few tries, the lock gave way to Windhere, who set his storm gear and coat aside. He locked the door anew, and sat at an overly ornate table for a few minutes as he shook off the storm that had followed his muscles in with him. His breath was ragged, but within moments had shifted to a steady pace.
Once his energy returned to him, he slowly lifted with a creak from the chair and began slowly inspecting the variety of book covers lining the walls. Every one of the wine-coloured torn spines that decorated the History Room’s walls revealed a facet of the history of the 9th District. They, just as every district in Comcodasyera, were in charge of their own history. Windhere came to a stop, and stared at a spine titled One Lost Half: Casualties. It didn’t take long before he came upon another title that piqued his interest.
One Lost Half: A Recount of the L-Bomb and Aftermath lay open on the table in front of Cloris Windhere, who was violently flipping through page after page. Beside him, a half open book that contained no writing. Pulling a quill from the inkwell next to the empty book, he began to transcribe the words from A Recount into the empty book, every word just as they appeared originally. On top of simply copying the words, he also attempted to copy the handwriting over as best he could.
—we rained bombs on their city, for no one else would. Had they offered the right of passage, it would not have come to that, for we never intend to harm. Why would they not let us through? Our people wondered, for we had done everything to appease them. Why are we always facing the consequences of actions when we've had little choice of their making? Our DistrictL exhaled at the thought. We deserved right through that passage, no question of reason.
||| ||| ||| ||| |||
Windhere spent his time locked in the back of the 9-Mission on days such as this. When the winds were rough and no one dared venture the streets, he would be rewriting the history of him and his people. As the District 9L, he felt it was his duty to his people to lay a foundation that would take all suspicion away from him, leader of the District, and his involvement in the One Lost Half incident involving the Corridor of the Pale. When historians looked back on that day, it was not them that would be punished and be considered to be on the wrong path of history.
He came, finally, to the end of the tome he'd been working through over the last few weeks. He shut the cover of his rewritten copy and placed it where the original had stood, undisturbed until his appearance. The original, he stole away under his storm gear before dressing for the storm he would have to walk through on his return home. Once arrived, it would be thrown to the fire. Windhere looked behind him one last time, books flickering in the candlelight, before closing the door behind him.
\\\ \\\ \|/ /// ///
[ split | two ]
City of Comcodasyera — District 10, The Corridor of the Pale: Thirty-Two Years After the L-Bomb
Sev Aphot stood in the increasingly decrepit old 9-Mission poring through the stacks of books. In an effort to educate his people, the Key Warden had embarked on a mission to teach them of the L-Bomb campaign that had been target to their district decades ago. The roof, once a dull silver beacon of pride in the Sandstone had rusted. Bits of the roof often collapsed, and thus the 9-Mission was condemned. In order to enter, Aphot had come under the darkness of night and brute forced his way through a back window during a shouting match happening in one of the nearby homes. Once inside, he shuffled quietly to the history section.
||| ||| ||| ||| |||
The Corridor of the Pale was nestled between District 9, the Sandstone, and District 11, the Myocardium. It acted as a bridge between the two Districts, and often found its politics interweaving with those of its neighbours, who often found themselves in disagreement. The Corridor consisted mainly of one thoroughfare with high walls on both sides. Both of these walls, East and West, were marked by houses jutting beyond the wall, acting as both shade on the road below from the sun, and housing for the sparsely populated District. On both sides of the street, a few paths cut through the walls becoming dark tunnels to nowhere in particular.
When Aphot returned to the Corridor, he held a selection of books he'd taken from the 9-Mission in his worn-out purple satchel. He'd perused them briefly while in the Sandstone, but was turning them into the Cardinal Keeper to verify their authenticity before using them as tools of education. The 10-Mission was hidden amongst other buildings in the East wall, drawing no attention to itself. Finding a set of stairs, the wood creaked as he made his way to the Cardinal Keeper’s study above.
“Ah, Key Warden, you return at last!” Was the welcome he received on his arrival.
“Cardinal Keeper Vanagandr, a pleasure.”
“Tell me, you've acquired the books, Sev?” The Cardinal Keepers asked, stretching out his arm.
Aphot slipped his hand into his satchel and retrieved one of the books, handing it to the old Cardinal Keeper, who lit up at it's touch. “Beautifully bound! They do keep their history in high regard.”
“Maybe their victories,” Aphot lamented, “but not their Mission. They've got nothing much to celebrate anymore. The war is old now. They've long since forgotten of it and, probably, of us.”
Vanagandr looked long at Aphot before turning his head toward a window looking out to the West wall before them. “Then they've not, nor will not, learn. Now, let us take a gander at these records.”
||| ||| ||| ||| |||
Aphot left Vanagandr alone to study the books he had brought for him. He sat, mildly alert, in front of the 10-Mission. The Key Warden had been tasked with ensuring that no one disturbed the Cardinal Keeper until he returned from his analysis. Aphot followed the shade left by the sun as he sat and stood guard over the entrance to the Mission. The desert sun took its toll on the man, who was frequently given something to drink by the locals. He was known well in the Corridor, for the Key Warden's role was as guardian of the Mission. Guardian of knowledge.
Vanagandr spent his time leisurely. He re-read passages, marked areas of suspicion, noted visible changes in handwriting, the make of the book, and errors in spelling. Frequently he would stand from his cushioned seat and peruse the library, find their own telling of the war, and cross-reference the history they both contained. When the room dimmed, he lit candles. When the room began to brighten once more, he snuffed them out. Sleep was rare.
“Sev,” a pat on the back brought him out of reverie, “bring me Canticle.”
Aphot spun around on his heel, startled. “Cardinal Keeper, is there a problem?”
“Once you've found him, you're both to join me in my chambers. Move with a haste, as this concerns another.”
\\\ \\\ \|/ /// ///
[ split | three ]
City of Comcodasyera — District 10, The Corridor of the Pale: Nine Years Before the L-Bomb
Artifak sat at the edge of the Corridor's East wall, peering into the lives of those living in the Sandstone. The sight of people pushing their way through crowds of thousands making their way from infirmary to home, church to family gatherings, was a wonder to behold. A wonder he'd only ever seen from above. His own home was far different. A place where one could hardly be in the company of others. Where hiding was easier than running into someone new. It was a small town. A road. But to the young child, it had never seemed a friendly one. And so he watched those beyond the invisible line laugh, bitter.
It was dawn, and the Sandstone's windows cast a faint glow over both walls of the Corridor. Behind him, the sky darkened and it began to quiet down. Covered in shadow, Artifak cautiously made his way down the sheer cliff that acted as the barrier between both territories. His hands broke pieces of rock loose as he descended, tumbling down into the now dark abyss he was making his way into. They clambered against the walls. He listened to them for an indication as to how far he had left before he was once again on solid ground.
Once his foot touched the bottom he kicked off of the wall and stood, admiring the lights that were now on the same plane as him. His attention was only broken when he heard a dull thud to his left.
He looked around him, but saw nothing in the dark. He called faintly, “Hello?” followed by two quick slaps at the distance.
“Are you from there?” The voice was closer than the other had been.
“Y-yeah.”
“I'm Cloris. Who are you? What's it like up there? I think I saw you sitting up on the cliff earlier. Was that you?”
Artifak, taken aback, tumbled backwards. He landed in the dirt, prompting it to kick back into his face.
“Here, I'll help you up.” Cloris laughed, reaching a hand down to pick up the fallen stranger.
“Um, thanks. On the cliff... Sorry for staring. I hope— I hope I wasn't too—”
“What's it like up there?” Cloris cut him off, unconcerned about his worries. “You're clumsy, it's amazing you didn't fall on your way down!”
The energy given off by the other person was beginning to rub off, slightly, on Artifak. “I guess. Sorry, my name is Artifak. It's... Normal up there, I think?”
“No way, you guys live in cliffs! That's so cool!”
“It is? But there are so many people down here! There's almost nobody back home compared to here.”
Cloris scowled and sat against the side of the cliff. “They aren't that great.”
Joining him against the cliff, though at a slight difference, “And what's it like here? I only ever get to see the top of everything.”
“Oh, how about you follow me, I'll show you!” Cloris jumped up, taking Artifak's hand with him.
Together, they walked through the dark until coming to the nearest lit building.
“Welcome to the Sandstone. The closest district to the Sandwall.” he said somewhat hauntingly, but with a hint of pride. “We'll be the first to die if anything happens to it!”
“That's... not good.”
Cloris continued to tour Artifak around. The Sandstone was far different up close than from anything Artifak had seen while sitting on the ledge. From here, he could overhear shallow conversations coming from the thin walls that held up tin roofs. Lighted signs far above their heads spelled out directions to the many markets and clubs and all other activities the District contained. Every so often, sand wound up in Artifak’s eyes, prompting him to start walking backwards while following Cloris. There were no streets, and the area was wide open. Finally, Cloris planted his new friend in front of the 9-Mission.
“We use the silver roof to guide us when we're lost in a storm.” Cloris wondered at the marvelous shining dome, looking over to the other boy for affirmation. “It's saved many lives. Isn't it beautiful?”
“So beautiful. Our 10-Mission is just a hole in the wall.”
“Oh, right, how do you plan on getting back up there?”
As the sun began its ascent, the two boys slowly wandered their way back to the wall of sandstone that separated both of their cities.
“We'll think of something.”
\\\ \\\ \|/ /// ///
[ split | four ]
City of Comcodasyera — District 10, The Corridor of the Pale: Thirty-Two Years After the L-Bomb
Sev needed to gather his mind after how quickly the cardinal keeper had spoken. It was unusual for him to use such a rushed manner of speech. It wasn't long before Sev had tripped his way back down the stairs and was back on the street of the city. It had gotten darker since he'd been up there. Lanterns hung from most of the doorways and poles around every corner. His shadow lined the streets, like a beast searching for its prey.
Canticle. The name rang somewhere in the back of his mind. Canticle, a name he’d heard somewhere before. Given the dark, most people in the Corridor would be asleep but after Vanagandr's rushed tone, he knocked on the first door.
After receiving no response, he shouted. “Is there anybody inside? I'm sorry to wake you so late, but I'm searching for someone. If you'd allow me just to speak for a moment, I'd be so grateful to you and your family.”
A crack came from near the back of the house. Slow footsteps echoed ever so closer to the door with every step, resulting in the door slowly creaking open. The young man looked at Sev, bags under his eyes. A drop of spit to the floor as he began his welcome.
“Go away.”
“I apologize, but I'm searching for someone. Have you heard of a man by—”
“No,” the man cut in. “I don't. Goodnight.” And the door slammed.
Undeterred, Sev made his way to the next house on the first floor and row of the Corridor. Once again he had to shout to make his presence known, and once again he was left stunned and standing in front of a slammed door. This pattern continued for the rest of the first level of the Corridor. Once he reached the end, he climbed up a set of stairs carved into the stone and made his way to the second level. The unevenly carved steps burning his ankles.
From here, some remnants of the sun's rays could still be seen, so Sev made his way to the last level of the cliff houses. From here, it looked almost like the sun hadn't begun to set at all. Underneath him, the view gave another story as he looked into the black abyss from above. He knocked on the door next to him, and to his surprise, it was answered without hesitation. A woman stood against the door looking up at him.
"It's getting late," she said, looking at the sun fall behind the rock wall opposite. "I was getting ready to sleep. What is It?"
"Have you heard of a man, Canticle? The Cardinal-Keeper is looking for him.”
The woman’s eyes lit up as soon as she heard the name. “Of course I've heard of him! Don't you know how he was involved in the war?”
Sev took a step back. “Should I? All I do is keep the Mission safe. I don't need to know much of history unless it directly involves my duties. I’m not one for history anyway.”
Of course you should know! He was essential in the war. They say he almost stopped the L-Bomb.”
“Did he? I would be impressed if he’d actually done it.”
“You’re looking for him? I wish I could help, but I've no clue to where he might be, or even if he's still alive.”
“You seem a fan of his. Want to help me look for him? I've canvassed most of this side of the wall, and I’ve seen no sign of him.”
The woman, door still slightly ajar, unhooked the lock. The entranceway widened, and Sev peered inside with the corner of his eye. What was visible to him was a mostly bare room. It contained a small yellow couch at the far end that looked into what was probably the kitchen. The woman looked at him.
“Alyastra.”
“Hm?”
“My name. Come inside, I’ll tell you about the man you're looking for.”
Without hesitation or a chance at a response, Sev was pulled through the open door. What Sev had thought to be a kitchen was a bookshelf that reached the ceiling of the room. It was filled with loose pages, notes scrawled all about them, and piles of books. They were not in any particular order, he noted, and asked about them.
“That's your homework for the night. You won't find him if you don't know who you're looking for.”
She was correct, of course, so he grabbed the book nearest him and looked through the chapter names. The book was heavy, bound in leather. It would have been beautiful had it not been torn and ripped. The bottom left corner of the entire book was missing. The title was faded, but still visible. A Canticle of War. He flipped quickly through until he found a sketch of the man he was looking for.
Canticle was young. Mid twenties, Sev supposed. His face was drawn slightly to the left, as if he were looking through the door that Sev had just used. His hair was cut flat, but there was a hint of facial hair on his chin. He looked serious. As if this moment, the portrait, was the most important of his life.
Alyastra broke him from his daze. “Are you going to look at that all night, or might you read some of it eventually?”
“His face is all I need.”
“Well, he doesn't look like that anymore, I'll bet. That portrait was done back before the bomb.”
“Thank you for your help. I'd better be off.” He said, returning the book to the shelf and turning to face the door.
“I’ll help you look.”
“What?”
“For Canticle. I’m far more likely to recognize him than you.”
“Of course. Let's be off—”
He was cut off again. “In the morning.” she yawned. “Take the floor.”
\\\ \\\ \|/ /// ///
[ split | five ]
City of Comcodasyera — District 10, The Corridor of the Pale: Thirty-Two Years After the L-Bomb
When he woke, Alyastra was already prepared to leave. She’d dressed in a mix of formal attire in the interest of meeting one of her heroes, but also ensured that she dressed sensibly enough for a hike or walk upon the uneven sand if it came to that. Sev himself had slept fully as he’d arrived. His neck hurt, and he craned it from side to side when he stood up. Stretching from the night before for the day ahead. Before he was prepared to leave, he asked for a glass of water.
His host shook her head. “Almost out of supply for the month. We’ll have to stop somewhere along the way.” she proposed.
Sev hadn't thought. It was the end of the cycle. Supplies everywhere would be running low before more was brought in. Unless he was willing to walk back down to the mission, they'd be drinking out of a public fountain. Alyastra was probably used to it. Lack of water was common in the small district that acted mostly as passage between the two bigger ones. He felt bad for bringing the topic up. It proved how privileged those who worked in the Mission could be.
If Alyastra had been offended by his question, she didn’t show it. The door swung open at her touch and soon they both stood in the morning shadow of the west wall. The East wall opposite them was brightly illuminated. They'd probably been awake for a while over there. Sev was not in the mood to begin his questioning back where he'd started the last night. He hadn’t received answers before, and the townsfolk wouldn't be excited to see him again.
“You know him better than I.” He told her as he walked out the door. “Where might he be?”
“Canticle is pretty reclusive. Nobody's seen him in ages. The war did a number on him physically, but I think it might have been the emotional part that did the most damage. I say we look away from the main gatherings.”
Sev surveyed the land below. “But he must come out to get supplies. Somebody must recognize him.”
“Not if he doesn't live alone.”
||| ||| ||| ||| |||
At her advice, Sev climbed the steps up to the top of the wall and surveyed the landscape. Their canyon village was almost entirely visible from this perspective, but that wasn't where he was focusing his attention. The flat sands stretched before him, not breaking anywhere within his vision. Trudging forward, he kicked it up into a cloud before Alyastra moved over to his side.
“We’re just going to walk the length of the desert then?” She questioned him. She wasn't sure how long they went on, and wasn't prepared for failure if they ran into the city wall.
“It’s not just desert up here. We’re bordered, of course, by the Sandstone to the south and Hemo-Chrysostom to the north. Could be he lives on the outskirts of one of them.”
Alyastra tipped her head to the side, quizzically. “Why isn't this part of the city built up? If we can build right up to the Wall in Sandstone, then why can't there be anything here?”
“The shade of the wall is important. There's no way we could live up in this heat. And we surely haven't the money to build anything. Unfortunately we've been burdened with territory that is of no use.”
“Sandstone!” she let out a burst, excitement. “He's in the Sandstone!”
Sev stopped and looked at his companion. “What do you know?”
“In his biography,” she began, “it's said that he spent time sneaking into the city. He was entranced by it. None of us has seen him in years. It would make sense.”
“The enemy's territory?”
“Well he certainly wouldn't be in Hemo-Chrysostom. He considered them too fanatical, if I remember right.”
“The Anoisophia? The Gods chosen? What has he against Eos, praise Him?”
Alyastra slowly sat, sinking into the sand slightly. “I think he’ll be hesitant to join Vanagandr.”
\\\ \\\ \|/ /// ///
[ split | six ]
City of Comcodasyera — District 9, The Sandstone: Thirty-Two Years After the L-Bomb
“Canticle was young still, before the war.” Alyastra said, her eyes glanced up toward the towering sun. Sev Aphot had joined her now, sitting beside her. His head downward, pointed to the sand. He listened intently to what he was being told, figuring it could lead to discovering where the old soldier might be located. “He made his way down to the sandstone one night. There, he met a friend he would keep close until the war began. Cloris Windhere.
“Together they wandered the streets when Canticle made his way down during the nights. He’d climb his way up here so as not to be seen making his way out. He slipped back in through the shadows of the morning's light as everybody was just waking. He left more and more frequently as he grew closer to his new friend. Even as relations between our districts wore thin, the two stood close together.
“Over the years, Canticle had learned to trust Cloris. Just like any friend, I suppose. Cloris’ betrayal then, hit him hard. As the war began, Cloris acted the spy. Since their first meeting, Cloris had only ever been in it for himself. His satisfaction at fooling the boy. A way to ease his loneliness. Somebody to care for him expecting nothing in return. To whom he could lie and not expect any consequences even if he were to be found out. Cloris had found his pawn. A trophy he'd won for himself.
“It was only when Canticle began to ask questions that he began to distance himself. Whom he once considered his friend, he now found an opponent on every opinion. In every circumstance he was left on the defensive, He fought for his right to be heard. Respected. Cloris had begun to lose his footing, his control over his trophy. In the end, out of desperation, it was Cloris who pushed the button.
“After that, Canticle was caught in a hard place. He'd had to fight his one time best friend. He attempted to bring peace, but the offering could never be fully reached out. Cloris would only glare at him. His eyes lacked emotion. If he'd ever felt a thing for Canticle, he wouldn't show it. All they’d had was lost. Canticle had no choice but to turn his back, wish him well, and walk away. He became a pail, then. Cracked, rusted, and leaking. No matter how much his mind tried, the emotion drained away.
“No doubt he still has fond memories. I’m sure he still thinks well of Cloris at times. Has trouble separating the man that he knew from the one that despised him. He won't return to meet him. He's afraid he'll be roped back in. We'll have a lot of convincing ahead of us if we're to bring him back to the Mission. Vanagandr knows this. It's why he sent you despite the fact that you should be on guard. He can't do this himself. Another soldier might be able to convince him.”
||| ||| ||| ||| |||
Sev returned to his feet when the story concluded. Canticle had hidden himself away because he’d lost a friend? His immediate reaction was one of disdain. This Canticle was no war hero, but a lonely coward. He’d bring him to the meeting by force, if he had to. As Alyastra stood up, the clouds began moving in, darkening the brown landscape around them. Alyastra shivered and wrapped a coat around herself.
Dust began to pick up, and both searchers put on their sand masks and a pair of glasses. Alyastra was covered completely, save for some of her long hair visible from behind her sand-hat creeping along her back. Sev was far less prepared. Sand gashed his arms as it streamed past him, but despite the pain he moved in the direction of The Sandstone, Alyastra following close behind.
The two walked in as straight a line as possible as the sand whirled in the wind. Without anything to grip but each other, they would sometimes fall into the ground through the sheer force of the sand coming at them. Occasionally, the sand would pile up on their shoulders and weigh them down. They stopped to brush it off, all the while it continued to pile up. If they stopped, a mound of sand would pile on them, rendering them incapable of moving, mark their ever-travelling and forever hidden grave. Without any other option then, they walked head-first through the storm.
\\\ \\\ \|/ /// ///
[ split | seven ]
Comcodasyera Landside — District 9, The Sandstone: Thirty-Two Years After the L-Bomb
Sandstorm at an end, the duo made their way slowly down the sheer cliff that descended onto the outskirts of the city. A rock at Sev’s foot dislodged and sent the man falling to the ground below. At the sound of his falling, Alyastra peered over her shoulder. Sev had beat her. She jumped down to join him.
“That’s one way to get here faster than me!” she smiled, kicking at his leg lightly with her boot.
“Completely on purpose.”
“Ah, yes,” she knelt down and grabbed the rock that had fallen beside him. “Guess you don’t know where this came from, huh?” She dropped it on his face.
“Not a clue.”
Dusting himself off, Sev and Alyastra peered for the first time at the Sandstone. The Sandwall now appeared much taller than it had on the plateau. It cast a shadow over the entirety of the city. She pushed him forward.
“Well, there’s no reason to stop here, is there?”
||| ||| ||| ||| |||
Once in the city, they stuck near walls and kept their faces hidden. It had been since the war that anyone had knowingly crossed the border. Sev silently pushed Alyastra in the direction of a small alleyway hidden between two small houses. Within, they devised a way to locate the old soldier.
“—nd I’ll wait outside.” Sev finished.
With a nod, Alyastra led the way until they stumbled upon a small shop.
“Books!” she exclaimed, quiet as she could bear. “The clerk might have an interest in history. This might work.”
Inside, Alyastra browsed the histories as presented by the authors of the Sandstone. Scanning multiple, she noticed a disparity and brought one of the books to the counter. The man behind the counter looked up from his page of scribbles. embarrassed, he quickly tossed them under the counter. The quill he had used dripped ink over his arm.
“I’d like to buy—” when she looked up, a distant memory plastered itself to her eyes. Whispering, she said, “are you…”
The storekeeper suddenly stood alert, attention drawn from the quill to the lady in front of him. “Who do you think I am?” he asked, ashen voiced.
“Mr. Canticle, sir, I can’t believe— I didn’t think th— What are you doing here?” she managed.
“Ah,” he pulled up a seat and invited the stranger to sit behind the counter with him. “You’re not from here. I hadn’t heard of any changes in the—”
“I’ve been sent to find you!” she quickly shot up from her seat and motioned to Sev through the door. “He’s here!”
They sat facing each other.
Artifak Canticle broke the silence. “What does Viceroy want with me?”
“Viceroy?” they both asked.
“The Cardinal Keeper.” His face had turned grim.
Sev revealed what Canticle suspected, followed by the reason for his travel.
“I see. You want me to verify the account. I suppose there is no use denying it. With my location known, I’ll be troubled for the rest of my waking days.”
Alyastra looked into the old man’s eyes. “We’re so sorry about this, sir, but the record should be known.”
“Yes, yes. I haven’t much choice. We’ll take the official border crossing. I can’t make it back the way I came.”
Sev raised his voice slightly. “But they’ll catch us before we make it to the Corridor!”
“Then one of you should alert the Mission of my coming and prepare an arrival force.”
\\\ \\\ \|/ /// ///
[ split | eight ]
City of Comcodasyera — District 10, The Corridor of the Pale: Thirty-Two Years After the L-Bomb
The gate barring the road between the two districts was slowly being displaced by the citizens of the Corridor in anticipation of the return of their hero. On the cliffs at either side, watchmen looked out for any incoming movement from the 9th District. Sev stood, one foot on enemy territory, waiting for Alyastra to return from the Cardinal Keeper’s office. They had calculated their root to the minute during their practice runs, scaling the cliff down and into the city.
“We’re clear to run.” Alyastra said, behind Sev.
A patchwork army fell behind the two. They carried anything they thought capable of inflicting damage. Sev began running. The city followed.
||| ||| ||| ||| |||
There was nothing the officials of the Sandstone could do to stop their arrival. Members of the small band began to drop off into smaller conflicts at the entrance to the city, holding off anybody from following Sev and Alyastra. When they arrived alone to the small bookshop they had familiarised themselves with over the practice attempts, they found nobody inside. Whispering his name, they crept into the store. The door shut behind them. Darkness shocked them blind.
When they regained their vision, they’d been transported out of town and tied back to back against a pole.
“Ah, so you awaken, Aphot,” menaced a shadow.
Sev craned his neck, getting as full a picture of the room as his binding allowed. There was an empty chair, back turned toward him. From the sides of his vision, a man hidden under a hood took his place on the seat, creaking. Looking at him, unblinking.
Alyastra writhed her bound hands, trying desperately to untangle the knot.
“And now the girl,” the man on the chair said. “It’s time we begin.”
“Canticle!” Sev shouted. “why?”
The hood turned up into the sky, his arms following his gaze to the sun and falling back down in the direction of the Corridor of the Pale. “Without any Corridor, I’ll not have to return t—”
“Sev, that’s not Canticle!” Alyastra shouted from behind. “Listen, it’s not him!”
The man regained his posture, walking in a ring until his mask was face with Alyastra.
“Clever, girl,” he said, muffled behind his hands as he brought the hood down. “You’re lucky, Sev,” he shouted behind the bound man, “but not for too much longer, now.”
Voices rained down on the small group from the open sky. Death rattles, the clash of wood on bones, fire. The turning of pages.
“The lady might know me. Cloris Windhere. I’m so sorry for all this confusion. I suppose what you hear now are the consequences of getting involved. Artifak returned to me, you see, thinking heavily on what you told him. The past had clouded his mind. He’d forgotten what had drawn him to seclusion and tried to right the both of our wrongs. I couldn’t have that,” he said, cutting into Sev’s stomach. Rage spit now into their ears.
Sev, strapped to the pole, had no recourse but to blend his scream amongst the wind.