Red Blossoms the Sky

By Tyramir Ross

Among the ruins of civilization, there stands the city of Berlose. Its people struggle to survive under the tyranny of the Seirath family. Uprisings are quickly quashed by Seirath’s genetically enhanced soldiers, the Lotuses, but those same Lotuses now must question their loyalty as new threats coalesce.

The Lady of the Storms gains the public’s adoration even as she defies its leaders.

The Gargoyle hunts royal prey, and climbs a ladder of blood and bone to power.

Old Man Seirath himself threatens the city with his madness and vision.

A Weapon of Old emerges that may not just upset the balance of power in the city, but threaten to decimate the newly reforged civilization entirely. And it has been stolen.

The sky darkens, and the distant trumpet of thunder has been sounded.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lemorn Literary Works
• Release date: Jun 30, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370764358

Tyramir Ross

Tyramir Ross was born with a real name that is not this pen name somewhere in Canada. A recluse and hermit, he prefers that you’d read his book to discover who he is, as that has more clues to his character and psyche than any mundane listing of geographical and historical factoids ever could.

Book preview

Dramatis Personae

The Bluebands

Amber Archades – Leader of the Bluebands

Corey – Amber’s youthful Second-in-Command

Mal Casimir – The muscle of the Bluebands

Steffon Carloff – Sometimes ally of the Bluebands, resident fool

MIRE

Amir Nawzad – Lotus Captain, formerly Captain Havenbane

Yurogane Thousand Lives – Lotus Second-in-Command, Senir Monk

Draven Maddox – Lotus thief, specializes in infiltration and espionage

Victor Mernon – Chief assassin

Ayako Callaghan – Expert sniper, might be crazy

Seirath

Tobias Seirath – First Minister

Roland Seirath – Second Minister, son of Tobias Seirath

Decon Moore – Minister of Agriculture and Rural Development

Franklin Jones – Minister of Police and Internal Affairs

Alaine Link – Minister of the Treasury and Commerce

Chase Verne – Minister of Public Works and Transportation

Chen – Minister of Public Relations

Tolliver Kincaid – Minister of Foreign Defense

Belle Seirath – Minister of Education, daughter of Tobias Seirath

Derrin Jenkins – Minister of Research and Development

Josephine DeWilde – Minister of Energy and Conservation

Lucinda Prince – Minister of Health and Safety

Amir Nawzad – Minister of Intelligence, Reconnaissance, and Espionage (MIRE)

Residents of Berlose

Raina Seirath – Daughter of Tobias Seirath

Sable – Resistance Leader, known Freak

Mara – A whore, one of the old guard

Candi – A whore, and drug dealer

Lord Byron – A slum lord, not as good a poet as he thinks he is

Chapter One

At First Sight

The house was filthy and about ready to fall apart, but that was nothing unusual in Skagway. Makeshift supports had been hammered into place at some point in the last couple years, but even those wooden beams that kept the ceiling from caving in looked ready to rot from exposure to moisture. There were holes in the walls, with one big enough for two men to easily walk through standing side-by-side, but there were three men watching it armed with crossbows to make sure no one came through who wasn’t supposed to. The doors were all shut and locked, even barred and barricaded. It was the only way to keep the White Shapes out.

Still, Amber double-checked all the doors, making sure they weren’t even a crack open. The men and women that she passed all saluted her smartly. She tried not to frown, and wasn’t sure how successful she was. These people looked at her like she was a leader. She’d long since accepted that responsibility, back when her group had just been a few teenagers trying to survive the streets. She’d only had the position back then from being the eldest. Now, she held it because she was the smartest, the most cunning. The one with the plan. She missed being a teenager on the streets, just worrying about her own survival. It seemed far more innocent. Those seemed like simpler days.

Sir, one of the new boys said along with his salute.

She smiled in response. She wasn’t sure when her gang had turned into a military unit, but there it was. But if it kept them happy and in line, she wasn’t about to stop them. She hadn’t even made a comment when nearly all of ‘her’ people had begun to wear blue armbands. A way to counter the Redbands, she assumed, though no one had taken the time to explain it to her, and her curiosity hadn’t extended far enough to ask. At least they hadn’t taken to wearing emblems of flowers.

Their place wasn’t big. It used to be a house, but most of the furnishings in the place had long since been looted, save a couch that was ready to fall apart. The walls weren’t in fantastic shape, and some had come down altogether, leaving most of the ‘rooms’ to form into a larger one that encompassed most of the building. Still, at least the bathroom was private, and Corey had managed to get the water working again. Most people in Skagway couldn’t boast that, even if almost every other district in Berlose had it. They had their own Go board, nailed to a table, and Greg and Niles were playing another game. It was the same game they played every night. Greg would be ruthless, quickly dominating the board, and he’d be sure Niles would lose. And then, every night, Niles would use the exact same tactic, forcing Greg to herd him to one side, and then springing a trap and retaking the board. Everyone had long since given up on Greg learning not to fall for it.

The place was lit by candlelight and the odd torch mounted on the wall. No one in the district had yet figured out how to get electricity working, and it was very unlikely anyone ever would, especially given the EM-Storms that liked to hit the area. Anyone smart enough to possess that kind of skill usually went to work for Seirath.

It wasn’t much, but Amber and her people called it home. And despite the run-down look of the place, and the compromised structure, it was actually one of the more defensible houses in the entire district. Something she’d worked hard to keep a hold of most of her life.

Hoo-wee, sweet thang, came Steffon Carloff’s voice from behind her, and before she even turned to face him, she caught his hand as it moved to slap her behind. What say we skip this here hootenanny and gets us some private time?

Amber winced, but not as much as Steffon did when she gave a playful twist to his arm. The way he mangled the language always set her teeth on edge, and she knew he did it on purpose just to annoy her. He always pretended to be an obnoxious yokel with a bare grasp on any kind of etiquette, but it was a façade, and they both knew it. And as for the attempted slap, she knew any further reprisal wouldn’t do any good. Most men outside her gang would do the same upon seeing her. Even underneath the virtual rags she called clothes and the dirt, it was still apparent that she was a somewhat attractive, albeit not beautiful, woman, and chivalry was something only mentioned in fireside tales.

She turned to face him, letting go of his wrist, and gave a forced smile. Steffon was a man in his late twenties, if not early thirties. He, unlike everyone else present, was not part of her gang, although he appeared and disappeared from their home often enough that he might as well have been. No one knew where he came from, or why he always seemed to be around, but he was a good man in a fight, and in Berlose, that was all that mattered.

Steffon was well-dressed for someone who lived in Skagway. White T-shirt, mostly clean, and jeans that only showed a little bit of fade. His boots didn’t have any holes in them, and his trademark brown, ten-gallon hat was still in good condition. He had a donut in his right hand, and a bottle of water tucked in the crook of his arm, but that was nothing new. Steffon always brought sweets for Corey, spoiling the boy enormously, and clean water for her, the only gift she’d accept from him. What was surprising were his most recent additions to his ensemble, a pair of sunglasses and two holsters in his belt, each holding a pistol. Guns were common enough. Amber herself owned an old shotgun that Dad had left her, and she knew that several members of her gang had some similar weapons. But bullets were always an issue. Seirath tightly controlled the flow of ammunition, and how much got out. Bullets on the street were worth twice their weight in creds.

With the way he was openly displaying his new prizes, even running one hand affectionately along one of the weapons, he clearly wanted her to ask where he’d gotten them. He grinned at her, a toothy smile which looked ridiculous with his moustache nearly swallowing it, and struck a pose.

Not rising to his bait, she took the bottle of water from him and said, Sorry, Steffon. My hands are tied. My people are hungry.

She had to duck a blur of movement out of the corner of her eye. Corey was swinging a sword experimentally while chatting with Mal. He gave her a sheepish grin. How many times had she told him not to play with that in the house? Still, she hoped Corey, or even Mal as much as she disliked him, would come rescue her from talking with Steffon.

Ah, turd biscuit! Steffon shouted. You done had a raid on one o’ Seirath’s supply shipments just two days gone! Nice little fight with those Redbands that was guarding it, too.

And made off with a box before even letting us see what was inside, Amber said dryly.

He ignored the comment, and continued, Y’all should be done fed for the month, if not more. Shit fire, I’d bet my Aunt Rose’s fanny y’all made off with some good clothes, too, from what everyone here seems to be wearing. ‘Cept you. Always was a dumb bitch about that.

She felt her cheeks redden at that. Steffon always was a selfish one, and criticized her for putting others before herself. But the rest was true. The raid on the Seirath shipment had yielded them enough food to last them a few weeks even after giving Lord Byron a cut, plus some clothes, but all those had gone to the younger members.

Take that back! came Corey’s voice.

The teen ran to stand between her and Steffon, pointing his sword dangerously. Mal followed him, but was lazy in his stride. Corey was a hothead, always eager to get into a fight, usually to defend the weak or the helpless, or whatever maiden in distress he could find. Mal looked just as hard for fights, but never for such noble callings. And he was the right size for it, almost two meters tall and covered in muscle.

Didn’t mean nothin’ by it, Steffon said.

Oh yeah? the kid started to say, but was interrupted as Steffon shoved the donut in his hand into Corey’s mouth.

Now put that Never-sticker away, huh? Don’t want to be puttin’ a hole in me by accident. I wouldn’t look right at all with a hole in me.

Corey let his sword point drop, and smiled around the donut, which quickly disappeared into his gullet. That was the way with the teen. He was the youngest among them, and always made sure to act his age, flitting from one mood to the next, never a thought between actions, so long as his stomach was full. Still, there was wisdom to be had there. Amber opened up her bottle of water and began to drink.

Good to see you again, Steffon, Corey said. Come for the raid?

Amber nearly groaned aloud. She had planned to try to get Steffon to come along – especially if he’d taken to wearing guns around like they were loaded – but in order to do that, she needed to get his attention. Hint that there was something exciting for him to be a part of, and not tell him outright.

A raid? Steffon exclaimed. Y’all are crazier than a sack o’ skunks. Y’don’t need nothing, so why the hell’re--

He stopped, his face going pale. He was putting it together, and realizing what it all meant.

You got a taste o’ Redband blood, Steffon said slowly. Y’got a taste o’ stinkin’ Redband blood, and now y’think you’re a bunch o’ mighty revolutionaries, don’t you?

Corey stood up straighter, and his face was quickly turning red, whether from anger or embarrassment, Amber didn’t know. Mal looked amused, but didn’t remark on any of it.

Amber said slowly, We killed a patrol of Redbands. Nobody opposes them and gets away with it. But we didn’t just get away with it... we killed them, and we didn’t lose a single person. We fight well together.

Y’got lucky! We all did! I seen this before! Gangs that go up ‘gainst the Redbands, and think, ‘Well, shit. We done won ourselves a battle. Let’s go fight a war. And they all think they can done beat Seirath all of a sudden. You know what happens when you fight Seirath?

We have a plan, Mal said boldly. Amber has a plan. Hit and run. Kill a few Redbands here. Kill a few Redbands there. Always somewhere different, and always somewhere small. Leave hints it may have been other gangs. Then, we stop for a month when they begin looking for us. Then, after the month, we hit somewhere big. Like Seirath Spire itself.

Steffon let out an unintelligible noise, and shouted loudly enough for everyone to hear. Y’don’t get it! None o’ you do!

What’s there not to get? Corey asked, his tone wheedling and eyes innocent.

Steffon shot him a scowl and looked about to cuff him. Forget it. I’m gonna go grab a coffee. Amber, why don’t you come with me? We can even grab Corey here some donuts. He likes that sugary junk, right?

Outside? At night? Are you crazy? The Shapes are out there! she exclaimed, even as Corey nodded enthusiastically.

Steffon patted one of the guns at his side as if the gesture meant something. Don’t you worry none, darlin’. I got me all the protection from White Shapes right here. I think we need to get a coffee. I got somethin’ I need to tell you.

You can tell me now.

No, he grated. I can’t. Something for your ears only.

Then it can wait until morning.

No, it can’t.

She caught it then. The urgency in his voice. She hadn’t noticed it before because of her natural habit of trying to tune out the annoying accent, but it was definitely there. Something she’d never heard in Steffon Carloff’s voice before. Fear.

What’s going on? she asked.

Steffon began to pace, all the while brushing one hand anxiously over one of his pistols. He shook his head the entire time, muttering to himself, but quietly enough so Amber couldn’t make out a word. Even Corey began to notice, and he darted a frightened glance her way. Mal merely looked pleased, as if he just realized that the night wouldn’t be quite so boring after all.

What’s going on? she repeated, putting all the steel she could muster into her voice.

Steffon stopped, and took off his sunglasses. And there, matching what was in his voice, was fear. Fear bordering on terror. He answered, and he couldn’t even begin to disguise it now. That raid... They know. They know it was you guys. Seirath’s sent their Redbands after you. Caught word you guys was gonna be wiped out. It’s what always happens. You don’t fight Seirath and their Redbands. They always hunt you down like the skags they see you as.

Then we hold out till morning, and then find a new place, Amber said plainly, trying to pull her courage together.

Abandon our home? Mal asked.

Steffon’s right. Fighting the Redbands openly is stupid. We’re gonna do it, but we have to stick to raids. Small gestures.

We can retreat now, Corey said. I’d follow you into the night.

Thanks for the vote of confidence, Amber said. But going outside at night is too risky. I didn’t get all of you together and watching out for one another just to get you all eaten by Shapes.

There was a commotion from the other side of the room, and Steffon jumped. Freddie clapped Greg on the back as the boy began moving pieces on the Go board. Two others were cheering Greg as suddenly the board was in his favour. The other boy had his head hung low in defeat.

Finally figured out how to beat Niles, she said.

Ah, who cares about the dumb game, Steffon said. We need to get out.

There’s nothing we can do until dawn. We have until dawn, we’re good.

Who cares for the game? Mal asked. We should be figuring out how we fight.

Mal had that look in his eye. It always gave Amber pause. He wanted to do something stupid and violent. She’d need to watch him and make sure he didn’t actually go and do it. Well, there went her remaining free time before figuring out where they were going to evacuate.

Movement outside! one of the sentries yelled.

Shit, Steffon said.

Just a Shape, Mal said. You’re seeing things. No one goes out at night.

Amber shook her head. No way it was a Shape. You couldn’t see the things, they were so quick. Someone was out there. An impossibility, but there all the same. She trotted to the hole in the wall, dreading what she might see.

Redbands? she asked intently.

One of the sentries shook his head. She heaved a sigh of relief.

Just some guys in suits.

Shit! Steffon yelped. How many?

Amber squinted into the darkness, and could see the forms moving towards the house. Her night vision wasn’t the best. It was why she rarely did sentry duty.

Four, Greg answered. What the hell’re people wearing suits doing in Skagway? No one comes down here wearing those clothes, even in the day.

Why aren’t the Shapes attacking them? Corey asked, and for the first time, Amber realized that everyone had come to gather at the hole, watching the four figures outside. Everyone except Steffon, who still stood where he’d been before, holding his hat and running fingers through his short hair.

Amber stepped away, put down the bottle of water, and grabbed a torch from the wall. Moving it carefully so as not to destroy what night vision she did have, she hurled it out the hole and towards the figures. It clattered to the ground before them, illuminating them for everyone to see.

A blonde man bent down before the torch, giving a sinister smirk. He lit pulled a cigarette package from his pocket, pulled one out, and lit it off the flame. He stepped over the light, and the others followed.

The next who followed gave the first man a shove, nearly unbalancing him. His face was twisted in a scowl, and one of his eyes sported an eye patch, a nasty scar running down his forehead and cheek. A large Senir, his bald head covered in three triangular tattoos, cracked his knuckles ominously as he came into view. The two fanned out to the sides, predatory in their gait. Wolves circling prey.

Finally, a bearded man in a particularly fine black suit stepped forward, taking the middle position. He reeked of money and station. He was immaculately groomed, something unheard of in Skagway, and his tie, a splash of purple against an otherwise monotone black colour theme, was probably worth more creds than Amber owned. He watched them, his lips drawn in a grim line. His hands were clasped behind his back, and he looked like he was getting ready to gag down a plateful of hot garbage.

They’re wearing purple pins, Corey said numbly. They look like flowers.

Everyone went silent.

The Seirath family controlled the city of Berlose as surely as a cat controlled a mouse hole. But they did it with money, with supplies, with their factories, and with the Redbands, their own private police. But when the Redbands weren’t enough, they always inevitably sent in their Lotuses.

Fighting Redbands was stupid. Risking White Shapes was insanity. Going against a Lotus was suicide.

Amber tried to come up with an order. Something to bark at those under her command. But it was like she was a child all over again, under the dark skies of the Wastes, playing a game with Dad.

The vicious hunters. Brave hyenas claim the plains. Now the lions come, she said.

Steffon scrambled to stand beside them all, peering outside. I’ll be a dancin’ moose. They sent all four of ‘em. I’ll be fuckered. They sent all four of them! I just figured, worst case, maybe two. But... That’s Thousand Lives, and Captain Havenbane! We’re dead. We’re all dead!

The Bright’s with us, Corey said with fervor. She won’t let us die.

The boy grabbed a crossbow from one of the nearby sentries, stood up and sighted at the four figures. Steffon made a strangled cry, and moved as if to stop him, but it was too late. The distance was easily at least thirty feet, but before Corey could even loose, he abruptly gasped, and dropped his weapon. Blood spurted out of his mouth, and his hands clutched his chest, then came away red. He staggered, and there was a flurry of activity. People jumped backwards, away from Corey, while Amber reached over to him, a choked gasp in her throat.

Corey fell, and she tried to catch him, but he was just too heavy. He hit the ground with a thud. He looked pleadingly at her, but she knew there was nothing she could do. It had all happened so fast. One second, he’d been about to shoot, the next he was bleeding. On the verge of panic, she reined it in, tried to keep a leash on her fear, and looked to Corey’s wounds. She had to do something. She would save him.

I’m s-s-sorry, he croaked. I—

There’s nothing to be sorry for, Amber said.

There were no crossbow bolts in his chest, not even the small darts that the Redbands liked to use. She kept herself composed, even if she wanted to break. His torso had been turned into a bloody mess. All along his chest were stab wounds, not bullet holes. It looked as if someone had gone at him with a knife for a solid hour, but that was impossible.

Corey gurgled something, one hand reaching for her. She grabbed it, clutching onto it, trying to give him some comfort, and then stared balefully out the hole.

Three of the four men stood exactly as they had been. But the fourth... The man with the eye patch was holding a bloody dagger in one hand, and a white cloth in the other. Meeting her eyes, he slowly and deliberately wiped the blade clean.

Monster! Mal yelled, genuine emotion in his voice for a change.

Mal took up Corey’s fallen sword and charged through the hole. Amber reached for him, tried desperately to stop him, but it was too late. Others followed. Jimmy and Greg were right behind, as was Niles. Enraged at their fellow’s death, others also took up the cry, and abruptly everyone was moving, hurling themselves out the hole. Any other day, Amber would have been proud to see them so united, so brave in the face of danger. Now, she just screamed for them to run. She wanted to do exactly that herself. She wanted to fight, as well. But even as she began to stand, not sure which choice of action she was going to take, Corey jerked. She bent low, tears falling from her eyes. She would not leave him alone.

She could see it in his eyes. Fear. He was going to die, at too young an age, in an old house that was ready to fall apart. He tried to say something, but it only came out as a bloody cough.

Outside she could hear her people dying, being cut down in their futile attempt to fight the Lotuses. She closed her eyes, tried to close away the sound, but couldn’t. She knew it would haunt her. It always would. And this was all her fault.

And then there was silence.

She opened her eyes slowly, and looked outside at the carnage. All about bodies were strewn. All of her people were dead, scattered about. The one-eyed man had two daggers out, both red with blood, while the bald Senir brushed off the sleeves of his jacket, as if he’d gotten dirt on it and wanted to be rid of it. Meanwhile, the well-dressed man and the guy with the cigarette were chatting almost amiably, as if nothing were amiss at all. And standing against the wall, but next to the hole so he was out of sight, was Steffon, both pistols drawn. The man looked about to do something stupid, but given the situation, there wasn’t an action that could be taken that wasn’t stupid.

Abruptly the bearded man stopped talking to his companion as if just realizing that the fight was over. Hands clasped behind his back, he moved forward, making sure to carefully step around the bodies of her friends.

I am Amir Nawzad, he said plainly. I tell you my name because it is only polite for a dead person to know the name of their killer.

Amber carefully let go of Corey. She was covered in his blood. She was about to be covered in her own. But she wouldn’t die on her knees. She stood, her jaw set firm and her fists clenched.

Then I’m Amber Archades, she said through clenched teeth. And ditto.

The man blinked, as if taken aback. The cigarette-smoking man let out a laugh, while the Senir merely shook his tattooed head.

We’re leaving, the man named Amir finally said, and abruptly turned away.

Amber felt anger more than relief surge through her. They were leaving. They were going to leave her alive. They’d killed her people, and were now going to leave her alive and run away. She knew it was stupid, but she nearly took a step outside the house after them. Only Steffon giving her a desperate shake of his head and mouthing the word No brought her up short.

The Lotus with the cigarette began to protest, but Amir silenced him with a glance. The guy took another drag from his cigarette, and then threw it to the ground, grumbling to himself in obvious disappointment. The Senir turned to leave as well.

But the one-eyed man made no move.

Victor, Amir called. When the man didn’t move to follow, Amir turned his head and looked directly at his companion, repeating more sternly, Victor. We’re leaving.

No, sir, the man growled. Job isn’t done.

And then the man vanished. He was gone for a blink’s time, reappearing right in front of Amber, knife in hand, a wicked grin on his face. He moved unbelievably fast. Not as fast as he had when he’d killed Corey, though. She could see it in his eyes. He wanted her to be afraid. He wanted her to see her death coming. It was his mistake.

Gunshots filled the air, and Victor’s body jerked every which way as bullets tore through him. The man grunted, dropped his dagger, and fell over, clutching at his wounds. So very much like Corey had done. Steffon stepped out from his hiding spot and pointed his pistol at the man’s head.

Will you not tell him your name? Amir asked from outside.

He didn’t tell Corey his, Steffon said bitterly, and pulled the trigger one last time.

Amir nodded, then said loudly once again, We’re leaving.

That skag just killed Victor! the blonde man said. We don’t let that stand.

Amir sighed, and shook his head. I said we were leaving. Victor disobeyed the order. He died. If it had not been from the stranger’s hand, it would have been from mine. Now. We are leaving, Draven.

The three began to walk away again, and Amber fell to her knees. Sobs began to rack her body, and she thought she was going to die from the grief.

Goodbye, daughter of Archades, Amir called out. Goodbye, stranger. We will meet again.

Chapter Two

Better Days

Draven Maddox wasn’t sure how he felt about Victor Mernon’s death. Victor had been a Lotus with the Ministry of Intelligence, Reconnaissance, and Espionage since before Draven had joined, before even Amir and Yurogane. He’d been in the service for twelve years. Most people didn’t even last one, considering MIRE’s propensity for dangerous missions. Before Draven had joined, MIRE had apparently gone through seven rookies in the space of a year and a half. That had been three years ago. Yurogane had been on the team for five, and Amir was rumoured to have been a Lotus for nine years. And with all that experience between the three of them, with all the stories of fucked up shit Draven had heard during his time, he’d never heard of a Lotus going down to some street slime. Or of his team not getting vengeance.

That burned Draven most of all. He was big on violence. It was fun. But there always needed to be a reason for it. And vengeance for one of your team mates was pretty high on the fucking list, in his opinion.

He scrubbed a hand through his hair as they walked, something he always did when he was angry or nervous. He wished some Shapes would grow a pair and come after them. Then he’d put a few phosphorus bullets into them and watch them die. That’d make him feel better. But unfortunately, the fuckers didn’t like to play with Lotuses. Apparently some asshole had gone and spread their reputation to the mutant/ghost/abomination population, and now the things were too afraid to come after them. While that wasn’t entirely true, the thought at least amused Draven a little. In truth, it just seemed that Lotuses scared Shapes, just like Shapes scared normal people, and Skinwalkers scared Lotuses.

Not that it mattered in any case. A child covered in blood for all the Shapes to smell could probably run out into the streets tonight and not even attract any of the ugly critters. Not with all the dead bodies they’d just left behind. The Shapes would be feasting well tonight.

I think we should go to Better Days, Draven said, pulling the carton of cigarettes from his pocket. He lit one, plugged it in his mouth, and managed to say around it, I’m fucking hungry.

After Victor’s death? Amir asked, almost sounding amused.

I’m hungrier than a hobo who’s caught the scent of a greasy steak sandwich.

Very well, Amir said.

Draven suddenly felt the urge to punch Amir. The guy was his boss, and that was good enough reason to want to punch him, but there was something about him that just pissed Draven right the fuck off. He almost always sounded as if he were about to laugh when talking to Draven. As if everything he said was a joke. Now, Draven joked a lot. And he expected a good amount of laughter from the people he spoke with. But Amir seemed more amused at Draven, as if watching a kitten batting at a length of string just before a wild dog attacked it.

I left one alive.

Draven nearly jumped at the sound of Yurogane’s voice, but if Amir was startled, he didn’t let it show. The large monk, with his secrets and his stupid mysticism, almost always kept to himself, and spoke usually less than that a day, save in combat situations.

The fuck you mean you left one alive? Draven exclaimed, jabbing Yurogane in the forehead with a finger. He made sure to hit the tip of the top triangular tattoo that covered his head. Did everyone just suddenly develop a conscience while I wasn’t looking? News flash. We kill people for a living. That was supposed to be a routine gang wipe-out. And now, what, three of them are still alive? Wow. If the Old Man ever finds out--

He won’t, Amir said confidently. We displayed enough strength. They’ll know to hide themselves now.

Draven almost asked ‘Why?’, but he knew better than that. Amir wouldn’t answer, because that was just the way Amir was.

Finally, Draven said when Better Days came in sight.

Only a few city blocks distance from Skagway, Better Days was situated in a poor neighbourhood that called itself ‘Firstlight.’ No one had any idea why, and for the most part, Draven and his fellows hated Firstlight. At least the buildings were still intact, old brick and stone homes that even had unbroken windows, as opposed to the rotting wooden shanties that might’ve been nice a hundred or more years ago before war and nature had their way with them. Even so, Firstlight was a dump compared to the nicer districts like Kazari, Redhome or the Pinnacle. Victor in particular—

Draven shook his head, annoyed. No, Victor was dead. His opinion on Firstlight was useless now.

The old diner was a throwback to an older era, one that most people had long since forgotten. It wasn’t classy, but it wasn’t a dive, either. Large windows panelled the sides of the entire building, allowing anyone walking by to look in and see the homey atmosphere the restaurant tried to pull off. Inside were booths with red cushioned seats, and tables that surprisingly didn’t even wobble. Draven knew. He’d tried to shake them loose from their mountings a few times out of boredom.

The diner sat on a T-junction in the street, covering half the block by itself, but it wasn’t the only part of the building it was housed in. Over top it were three more floors, all converted into cheap apartments. Better Days rented those out overnight, for those people unlucky enough to get stuck out of their homes during night. It was also how they managed to keep themselves open for business during the dark hours when most people wanted to eat dinner. Another reason was that the Lotuses of MIRE had been visiting the diner for years, and coming after missions had been a tradition predating even Victor’s former tenure.

Draven took one last drag of his smoke, tossed it aside, and then grabbed the door handle. The familiar bell rang as Draven swung the entrance wide open and took a good whiff at the air. Food. At last. His stomach grumbled in agreement, and he took a moment to take in the ambience.

The people sitting in their booths looked warily at him. Or rather, looked warily at the open door. He deliberately left it open for a few more seconds than was necessary, letting them squirm over it. He knew no Shapes would try to come in, but they didn’t. Still, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a white streak fly through the air, away from the diner. Likely headed for the carnage they’d just left behind.

Honey, Draven said, I’m home.

He struck a bold pose, but Yurogane shoved past him, and Amir followed suit. Draven made an exaggerated pout, but with their backs to him, neither saw it. The two began to walk to their usual booth, making a straight beeline for it over the black-and-white checker pattern floor, until Draven protested.

Gane, he said. Stop that diagonal shit, dammit. Only Amir’s allowed to move like a queen.

Yurogane glanced back, made something that sounded like a sigh, and then began to walk in a straight line forward over the black and white tiles until he was perfectly parallel to his seat, then made a ninety degree turn and walked straight again for his spot before sitting down. When he did, Draven nodded in appreciation for the man’s compliance, and finally let the door shut behind him. He could almost feel the tension ease in the room. Without even acknowledging the onlookers, he began to make his way across the patterned floor, always making sure to place each foot two tiles forward and one to the side. It only made sense. He was something of a knight, after all.

He plunked himself down on his side of the booth, sitting across from Yurogane, who was beside Amir. Amir always took the window seat. Said he ‘liked the view’, or some shit. Tactically, it was retarded. If someone came into the diner, guns blazing, Yurogane and Draven could leap away from the confining booth easily enough, but Amir might end up stuck.

The waitress wandered by, a seductive swing to her hips and a glint in her eye. Draven appraised her for a second, grinning. He took in as much of her body as he could, then moved his gaze to her face and then nearly swore. He knew that ridiculous pink hair anywhere. He couldn’t remember her name, but a quick glance at her name tag identified her as ‘Candi.’

Hi, boys, she said sweetly. What can I get you?

Amir smiled in return. I’ll take mutton korma with some buttered naan. And make sure the rice is basmati this time. My silent friend will have a porterhouse steak, blue rare, and a side of salad. Make sure it has both spinach and lettuce leaves this time. No dressing. Oh, and a pitcher of ale. Not beer. Ale. Brown, if you have it.

This Candi seemed taken aback by the large order. She had to be new. Then again, Draven only recognized her because he’d slept with her and promised to call her back. Which he’d never gotten around to.

And you, Draven? she asked, beaming at him.

Pancakes. Lots of them. If I don’t see ten pancakes in front of me by the time I finish this smoke... he withdrew a cigarette from the carton in his front pocket, ... then I am going to write a very angry letter. And possibly deliver a spanking.

He winked at her, and she giggled at him. Good. At least she hadn’t caught on that he really wanted nothing to do with her after that one half-decent romp around his bedroom. She scribbled the rest of the order down on her pad and began to walk away, and Draven watched her leave, admiring the view.

Maddox, Amir said, and Draven straightened in his seat. First order of business. This is the debriefing we give the Minister. We canvassed the area, found the offending gang of urchins we were told to deal with, and then began the attack. However, during the confrontation, Victor went into the house, and because it was in such poor condition, the entrance collapsed. Shots were fired, and when I arrived on the scene, Victor was dead. I dispatched the man responsible, but then the building collapsed further. White Shapes arrived, making it impossible to retrieve the body.

Fuck, Draven said. I can’t believe you’re letting them get away with killing Vic. Hell, I don’t even get why he rushed in there. It was obvious there was a guy hiding by the entrance.

He did it because he had a wife and two children, and MIRE life insurance pays out triple if you die in combat, but only twice if you die from the Creeping Death.

Draven felt like he’d just been punched in the gut. Shit. Victor was Decaying? The fuck didn’t he tell us?

Twelve years in the service, Amir said. No one’s ever lasted thirteen. The Creeping Death always eventually overtakes us.

But we would’ve seen, Draven argued. The Creeping Death always leaves dead bits. Black spots. Parts of you start to rot off. Hell. We would’ve smelled it.

Yurogane cleared his throat. I eased his aura, and made him a balm to soothe his suffering and cover the effects from prying eyes and noses.

Oh fuck you and your mysticism, Thousand Lives, Draven said, using Yurogane’s legendary nickname. The fuck do you care? Not like you had a year of steroid treatments, surgeries, and who knows what kind of implants. You don’t need to worry about the Creeping Death.

Amir said, Yurogane went down his own path. And he’s every bit as valuable. His unique abilities are far more useful than any gun.

Yeah yeah, Draven said, taking another puff from his cigarette. He frowned at the remaining length of it, and shouted in the direction of the kitchen, Where are my fucking pancakes?

Coming! came Candi’s voice.

She hurried out of the kitchen with a large plate covered in steaming pancakes, a sauce boat of syrup in the other, and a small dish of butter balanced on her arm precariously. She set it down on the table, and gave him a suggestive look, but he ignored it, already in awe of the large stack of pancakes in front of him.

I want another order of pancakes, same as this one, before I’m finished, Draven said.

Would you prefer waffles instead? There’s a special on them today.

Yurogane visibly flinched at the word ‘waffles,’ and Amir gave the waitress a withering glance. Draven, who’d just picked up his knife and fork, promptly dropped them both and dipped his hand into the front of his suit, reaching for his gun. But before he could fully grip it, Amir shot him a dangerous look that brought him up short. Pulling his empty hand from his breast holster, Draven picked his knife back up and began layering butter on his pancakes.

No, ma’am, I wouldn’t like any stupid waffles.

The word was spoken with such venom that the waitress blanched at it. He ignored her and began hacking his pancakes into smaller pieces.

Best if you obtained the rest of our orders now, Amir suggested. He won’t be in the mood to flirt for the moment.

As soon as the woman departed, Draven mimicked, Would you prefer waffles instead? Who the fuck eats waffles? Anyway... He paused to dip a piece of carved pancake into the sauce boat of syrup and ate it, then continued with the piece still in his mouth, ... we need a fourth Lotus.

That was quick, Amir noted. A moment ago you were lamenting Victor’s death, demanding vengeance and blood. Now you wish to speak of his replacement?

I was thinking a girl, Draven continued. Hot, obviously. And nubile. I like that word. ‘Nubile.’ She has to be flexible. And open to suggestion. And willing to take all of my remarks as orders. But I’m not going to share her with you guys.

We’re hiring a new team mate, not filling the position with the prostitute of your choice. I’m afraid the candidates are limited. In order to get even a single person to take the job within the month, they’ll need to have already passed the initial steroid and drug therapy.

And got their first implants, Draven continued. Hey. I know. Why don’t we just get a girl with two implants and no chemical therapy at all?

I assume that was an off colour remark about breast implants.

Got it in one, boss. Seriously. This ‘guys only’ club in MIRE has been pissing me off. Let’s see some equal representation of the sexes here! First, we replace Victor with a chick. We’ll have it as a trial basis thing, if we don’t like her, we replace her. Then, you die and I get promoted to your job, and we replace you with a girl – no offense. Then I can have two hot, nubile – I really like that word – girls all over me, while Yurogane does all the work. I’ll even authorize a pay grade bump for him to compensate. Everybody wins.

Except for me, since I will be dead, Amir added.

Not a perfect world, boss.

Candi returned, placing Amir’s order and the first course of Yurogane’s on the table. Draven took another bite and sighed contentedly. She smiled at him. He grinned at her. Suddenly, he was feeling very much in the mood to play.

Draven stood up, and grabbed Candi by the hand and began to half-drag her towards the stairs that led to the bedrooms for people to rent for the night. She gave him a wide smile and girlish giggle. She was up to play every bit as much as he was.

Behind him, he heard Amir remark, This is my favourite restaurant. Do not make it so we can’t come back.

No promises, Draven called over his shoulder.

Chapter Three

Rebirth

You’re dumber’n a pair o’ kissin’ penguins, girl! Steffon yelled.

It wasn’t the first time he’d made a colourful comment like that since the Lotuses had left. Amber was almost certain it wouldn’t be the last, but she didn’t care. She had work to do. Outside, White Shapes were flying about, filling the air with streaks of white. They moved too fast for her – for anyone – to properly see. They never stopped. They simply flew by, and tore a piece from a corpse on their way. All you ever saw was a white shape flash through the air.

Someone who’d been on one of Seirath’s fishing boats in the ocean had once told Amber about deadly fish called sharks. He’d said that sharks, just like White Shapes, could never stop moving, and underwater, they were every bit as dangerous as the Shapes themselves. Amber had scoffed at the story. Nothing was as deadly as a White Shape once it caught the scent of blood.

They’re my friends, Amber said through the cloth that was now covering her mouth and head.

Your dead friends! They wouldn’t do the same for you, believe me!

I lived with them. I fought with them. I rescued more than half of them off the streets myself. I think I know them better than you.

Y’already got twelve bodies back! You go out there for another one, the Shapes’ll get ya for damn sure.

They haven’t managed to get me yet.

Luck! Just luck!

She shrugged it off. It wasn’t luck, and she knew it. She knew the rules. It was why every inch of her was now covered completely in clothes. She even had an old shirt wrapped around her head to cover most of her face. Only the space around her eyes was revealed. Torches had been taken from the walls and thrown to the pavement outside. But even those precautions only minimized the risk. There was still danger, and her heart felt like a maddened jack rabbit, desperately attempting to escape her chest. Her gang had always been her responsibility. Just because they were dead didn’t absolve her of that. Amber was going to do her damn best to get their bodies back. She kept saying that in her mind. She wasn’t sure of her courage, but her resolve was steel.

Not for the first time, she fingered the knife that was strapped to her leg. It had belonged to the Lotus that Steffon had killed. One of two. The other was tucked into her belt. Just having them, the weapons that had killed Corey, sent chills through her. But she needed something to defend herself, and her old shotgun was too awkward to carry while dragging a dead body.

You’re gonna get us both killed, y’screwy duck.

You’ll be safe so long as you’re inside. Remember the rules.

Rules! Steffon screamed. You’re gonna be talkin’ to me about rules? Rules are meant to be broken! Everyone knows that! Doesn’t matter if they’re rules your parents set down, your teachers set down, or the policin’ Redbands set down! A rule in Berlose is just a drop o’ milk in a room full o’ thirsty cats!

The rules. Shapes eat flesh, and nothing else. It doesn’t matter if it’s human or animal, alive or dead, fresh or rotting. But if your skin’s covered... they can’t see it as well, so they don’t go for it. They don’t like the light. It’s why they don’t come out in the day. The torches outside will make it safer.

Yeah, and as long as the doors are closed, they won’t come after me, because I’m not stupid enough to go outside.

It was true. It didn’t matter if you had your windows opened wide, or if there were holes in the walls. White Shapes never came into a building unless there was a door – and only an opened door. They never went through a closed one, or tried to open it, and they never acknowledged windows or holes in the walls as even existing. So long as you were inside, and the doors were firmly closed, you were always safe from White Shapes. No one knew why. No one cared enough to question it. They just did it.

She set herself, hunched over and ready to dart out the large hole in the wall into the street. She’d done the run a few times now. Get out, grab a body, come right back in. It was easy, but her muscles were already tired. Some of the members of her gang had been in their mid-teens, still not fully grown.... But she wasn’t muscle-bound like Mal had been. One of the bodies she’d still yet to recover. She’d managed to grab twelve. That left four more to get, but some of the remains were in … pieces. It made it hard to tell who was left, and Amber couldn’t bring herself to look at their faces.

Don’t be stupid, Steffon said again. They’re too far out.

She ignored him, or tried to. He was right. This was stupid. But that didn’t matter.

Outside on the pavement, before the mass of bodies, she could see a boot. It had come off someone’s foot somehow, either in the fight or after a Shape had taken a swipe at one of the bodies, and now just sat there in the street. Every time, before she out outside, her eyes fell on that one stupid boot, and how it stood upright, with no foot inside of it. No person wearing it. Someone should be. But they weren’t.

Wrapping her heart in steel, she darted through the hole in the wall as fast as her feet could take her. She kept herself low to the ground, using her hands to push herself whenever the ground, wet with blood, threatened to cause her to slip.

Amber grabbed the first body that came within reach – Greg’s – and began to hurriedly drag it backwards. She could hear the rushing sound of Shapes moving past her, and the corpse jerked in her grasp as a large chunk was ripped from it. She closed her eyes, trying not to look, and began whispering a prayer to herself as she back-pedalled as quickly as she could.

Bright Lady, save me. Judge not ill of me this day. Be merciful please.

Her feet spilled out from under her as she stepped in more blood, and she fell backwards. Pain lanced up her back, and she cried out. She wanted to weep, to drop the body and run for the shelter of the house. She wanted anything but to be where she was, doing what she was. No responsibility was worth this. None at all.

Get the fuck outta there! came Steffon’s yell, but his cry failed to spur Amber on.

She could finally feel it. Panic was setting into her. She was going to die, and the only person to remember her would be an idiot named Steffon Carloff who occasionally liked to pretend he was part of a gang. The whole thing seemed so stupid and pointless. All she’d wanted to do was feed her people, try to shelter them, keep them safe, and give them the tools to carry on should she fall. She wanted to give up. But it was her fault Greg was dead.

Where Steffon’s words failed to move Amber, anger set her course. The body was a leaden weight in her grasp. She heaved backwards, slipping and sliding on the ground, but still making progress. Eyes still firmly clenched in fear, she moved however she could. Her back was on fire. Her shoulders didn’t want to cooperate. Her joints screamed. Still she jerked her way towards safety.

A snort was what finally got Amber to open her eyes.

She almost screamed when she did.

A White Shape hovered barely a foot from her face. It managed to loom over her without coming too close, but even then she could feel its breath on her face. It was featureless, not at all what she expected. Its body was one white mass, less than two feet tall, and it hovered in the air. Its arms were small, ending with three fingers each, and it had no legs at all, but a great finned tail instead. Its face, like the rest of it, was smooth and plain. It had no nose. Two nostrils that were bare slits centred its features. Its eyes squinted at her, as if trying to figure out what she was. But its teeth were what got her attention. People had always feared the tearing teeth of a White Shape, but she had expected them to be grotesque fangs, jagged and yellowed. Instead, they, too, were just as plain and unremarkable as the rest of the Shape. Large and flat, they were wide open to view without anything covering them, almost as if it was giving her a large, toothy smile.

No one had ever seen a Shape this close. Not and lived, anyway. It was how Amber knew she was going to die.

Something flickered across her vision. There for a second, and gone, appearing like a great sphere of blue. The Shape inhaled sharply.

And for the second time that night, in the face of impending doom, gunshots sang out, striking the Shape. Black blood, so different from the rest of its white exterior, spilled and exploded out from its body as bullets riddled it. The Shape took its attention from her, shaking itself and looking where the firing was coming from. But Steffon, both guns blazing, was safely inside. White Shapes couldn’t see a person as long as they were inside. It screamed in frustration and anger and pain, and that scream made Amber feel terror like none she had ever felt, even when her gang had been murdered by MIRE, just an hour before. Another bullet took the Shape in the head, and black blood splattered onto Amber’s face. She flinched as the substance, cold and stinging, splashed into her eyes. It spurred Amber on. Somehow she got her feet under her again, dragging Greg’s body backwards and into the safety of the house.

But the White Shape, even wounded, was not prepared to let its food be taken. It hissed, grabbing onto the body’s leg, and jerked backwards. Amber stumbled, and even somewhat blinded, she could see what it was trying to do. She realized Steffon’s gunshots had stopped. He was probably reloading. Or out of bullets.

There was no one to save her now.

Releasing the body, she moved quickly, kicking the ghastly thing in the face as hard as she could. It jerked backwards, growling. She kicked it again, and it recoiled, but seemed confused. It didn’t lash out at her, didn’t try to attack her. She kicked again, and it moved. Too fast to be seen, it was at her side, grabbing at her makeshift mask with both hands, ripping it from her.

Her training combined with years of living on the streets made her fist move before she was even aware of it. The knife came out of its sheathe at her ankle and took the Shape in the side of the face. The blade sank in, but it felt like stabbing gelatin, the flesh parting too easily and feeling wrong to Amber even through the weapon. She tried to withdraw the blade, but it was stuck, lodged into the creature as if the Shape’s very flesh gripped it. Abandoning the knife and throwing herself backwards, she saw Steffon step out of the hole, the old shotgun in hand.

Normal bullets hadn’t killed it, had barely even made it aware that it was wounded, even though it was bleeding everywhere. Steffon screamed and charged, until he was just a foot away from the Shape. The shotgun with its lone shell emptied into the Shape, tearing it apart. Blood splashed everywhere, more than the small creature had any right to have. Amber flinched away as black fluid splattered and covered her from head to toe.

The Shape was on the ground now, no longer floating, but gasping and wheezing. The shotgun blast had nearly torn it in half, and still it gushed blood, more than could be possibly contained in its body. Steffon pumped the shotgun, aimed, and squeezed the trigger once more, but the weapon only made a click. The man swore and pulled a hand crossbow that he had hooked to his belt, and fired a bolt into the thing’s head, but still it moved, thrashing about.

C’mon, girl! he screamed, and Amber once again grabbed hold of Greg’s body and dragged it back to the house.

Steffon gave her a desperate look for her to hurry, but made no offer to help, instead running back to safety. Amber was in moments after, and only stopped once Greg’s body was safely inside. When she did, she collapsed on her hands and knees, and almost vomited. She’d almost been killed, just for a gesture of respect.

Memories from the good days, just as they became the bad days, hit her. No, not just a gesture of respect. Something that needed to be done.

She looked back out the hole, to where the few bodies remained, and wondered if getting the rest of them was even worth it.

The White Shapes answered her question for her.

Howling filled the air, and white blurs descended on the grizzly scene below. The remaining bodies were snatched and vanished as forms too fast to make out grabbed them and took them beyond sight. Not even the wounded Shape was spared. Its fellows descended on it, tearing it to pieces, taking it every which way. This time, Amber did throw up.

They fuckin’ eat their own kind? Steffon exclaimed.

But Amber tried not to listen, tried not to look. She wiped the blood from her eyes, tried to wipe it away from her skin, but it was all over her. Her clothes were soaked in blood, her hair was a mess with it.

Stay right there, Steffon called, and he threw down both shotgun and crossbow, and ran to one of the back rooms. He came a moment later with a bucket in hand, and said, This gonna be colder’n a Seirath heiress on a date.

He dumped the bucket on her, emptying water all over her. She gasped at the suddenness of it, but appreciated it all the same. Steffon left just as soon as he came, and a moment later, he had another bucketful of icy water and splashed it over her. Amber made sure to lift her face up to get as much of the black substance off as possible.

A few pails of water later and she was more or less clean. She longed for a hot shower. She’d never had one before, but had heard stories about them from some of the kids in her gang who had come from families that had money, until they were either orphaned or abandoned to the streets for some reason or another.

I’ll be a cat-buggerin’ dog, Steffon said in a near whisper. The hell happened to you out there?

What do you mean? Amber asked, confused. You saw what happened.

Go look’n the mirror.

Standing up, shivering from the cold, Amber made her way to the bathroom. The mirror was old, with a giant crack running down the middle of it that spidered off in multiple directions, and it had faded over time, but she could still make out her reflection. And a stranger stared back at her.

The features were the same, but that’s where the similarities ended. Her skin had been sun-darkened before, but now it was a deathly pale. Her blond hair,