another. At best they love us as we love dogs.
I’ve never loved a dog like that.
They laughed, their smiles weak.
What about the illness?
Exhaling loudly the tall one cleared his throat, We do what we can. I’ve tried to heal them. It’s not like most sicknesses. There’s no definitive source. Rather it breaks into every fibre and racesdown the cords like the strings of an instrument, vibrating and shattering everything in its path. There’s a music to it, dissonant and cacophonous. I’ve never felt or seen or heard anything like it.
So what then?
I don’t know. We try to stop it before it starts.
Quarantine?
The Drache laughed and the Vulpen scowled, Impossible. Perhaps we simply do what we can. We heal, or try to, and we spread clean water. We may need to clear the temple.
Beata drifted from the others and lay down in the dirt. Raol hopped to his feet and scooped her up, bouncing.
Raw, she breathed, I’m hungry.
Raol swallowed and bit back tears, climbing back to the hovel.
Alexander watched the market from above, sitting atop a tavern with a merchant, a thin Garasun woman, blackhair hung over her shoulders and thick purple lips danced when she spoke. Above, an Angel flew between the clouds and drifted in and out of the sunslight, a white speck against the deep indigo of the sky.
I hear there’s a war.
The woman nodded and spoke in accented Rocan, Yes, a war.
Who fights?
They all do. All Vulpe and Drache and Glass. They fight in south. For now.
Isn’t it dangerous to fight in the forest?
They fight for two years now. Dangerous to fight all places. But the wolves not like fire. Trees not like fire.
Who do you think’ll win?
No one wins in war. Already so many dead.
But not in Luca.
Something even worse here. Comes quieter than war but hurts deeper.
Alexander leaned close, What?
Sickness. Blood. You not go to the temple?
He frowned, Which temple? So many gods here I can’t make sense of which is which.
The temple of flesh. All the bought boys sit together and share their love for coin.
The one by the port?
Yes, she sipped from her wine and turned to the market.
The crowd erupted into a song and dance pushing from the center and flowing out, a choreographed dance weaving through the merchants and buyers and peasants and artists, their singing rising together and spreading like a disease, infecting everyone it touched with music and movement. Alexander’s smile burned against the metal of his cheek as he watched Elrik, Frederic, and Willem laughing and clapping, staring at the naked natives, pounding one another on the back, jumping, bellowing. The song rose to a climax and ended, the dancers walked off, dispersed into the crowd as if nothing happened. The applause and shout rang through Luca and Alexander whistled, standing, following one blackskinned woman as she was swept away by the organism breathing life into the market.
What was that, he said.
A show.
Your world is truly one of magic.
She smiled at him, Our world is dying and we are killing it.
Alexander put his hand on hers, We’ll save you, my dear. Just wait.
Malik watched them loiter on the temple steps. Walking back and forth between the docks where the sailors went without shame to the steps and disappeared into the depths of the temple’s shadows, Malik returned to his stall only to flee the women and peer at the naked boys on the steps, his throat tight and his body covered in sweat beneath his robes.
The temple echoed with the coughing of the bought boys. They all shared the great pool at the heart of the temple and avoided the collapsed roof where weather swept in with its winter chill. Those who could not find a buyer for the night grouped and clung together to stay warm until the dawns broke. The blood pooled from their faces, from their anuses, while their friends and lovers and symbolic brothers washed away the sick, the pain, and told them to hold on.
Azura panted and drifted in and out of consciousness,
I’ve never loved a dog like that.
They laughed, their smiles weak.
What about the illness?
Exhaling loudly the tall one cleared his throat, We do what we can. I’ve tried to heal them. It’s not like most sicknesses. There’s no definitive source. Rather it breaks into every fibre and racesdown the cords like the strings of an instrument, vibrating and shattering everything in its path. There’s a music to it, dissonant and cacophonous. I’ve never felt or seen or heard anything like it.
So what then?
I don’t know. We try to stop it before it starts.
Quarantine?
The Drache laughed and the Vulpen scowled, Impossible. Perhaps we simply do what we can. We heal, or try to, and we spread clean water. We may need to clear the temple.
Beata drifted from the others and lay down in the dirt. Raol hopped to his feet and scooped her up, bouncing.
Raw, she breathed, I’m hungry.
Raol swallowed and bit back tears, climbing back to the hovel.
Alexander watched the market from above, sitting atop a tavern with a merchant, a thin Garasun woman, blackhair hung over her shoulders and thick purple lips danced when she spoke. Above, an Angel flew between the clouds and drifted in and out of the sunslight, a white speck against the deep indigo of the sky.
I hear there’s a war.
The woman nodded and spoke in accented Rocan, Yes, a war.
Who fights?
They all do. All Vulpe and Drache and Glass. They fight in south. For now.
Isn’t it dangerous to fight in the forest?
They fight for two years now. Dangerous to fight all places. But the wolves not like fire. Trees not like fire.
Who do you think’ll win?
No one wins in war. Already so many dead.
But not in Luca.
Something even worse here. Comes quieter than war but hurts deeper.
Alexander leaned close, What?
Sickness. Blood. You not go to the temple?
He frowned, Which temple? So many gods here I can’t make sense of which is which.
The temple of flesh. All the bought boys sit together and share their love for coin.
The one by the port?
Yes, she sipped from her wine and turned to the market.
The crowd erupted into a song and dance pushing from the center and flowing out, a choreographed dance weaving through the merchants and buyers and peasants and artists, their singing rising together and spreading like a disease, infecting everyone it touched with music and movement. Alexander’s smile burned against the metal of his cheek as he watched Elrik, Frederic, and Willem laughing and clapping, staring at the naked natives, pounding one another on the back, jumping, bellowing. The song rose to a climax and ended, the dancers walked off, dispersed into the crowd as if nothing happened. The applause and shout rang through Luca and Alexander whistled, standing, following one blackskinned woman as she was swept away by the organism breathing life into the market.
What was that, he said.
A show.
Your world is truly one of magic.
She smiled at him, Our world is dying and we are killing it.
Alexander put his hand on hers, We’ll save you, my dear. Just wait.
Malik watched them loiter on the temple steps. Walking back and forth between the docks where the sailors went without shame to the steps and disappeared into the depths of the temple’s shadows, Malik returned to his stall only to flee the women and peer at the naked boys on the steps, his throat tight and his body covered in sweat beneath his robes.
The temple echoed with the coughing of the bought boys. They all shared the great pool at the heart of the temple and avoided the collapsed roof where weather swept in with its winter chill. Those who could not find a buyer for the night grouped and clung together to stay warm until the dawns broke. The blood pooled from their faces, from their anuses, while their friends and lovers and symbolic brothers washed away the sick, the pain, and told them to hold on.
Azura panted and drifted in and out of consciousness,
Similar Books
