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Inferneum, Hellslayer - 10:40, 20 February 2024

On the outskirts of Inferneum there lies a house, grand and old and glinting surprisingly white in the dim sunlight. Back in the days of Ridnezite colonisation, it had belonged to the governor of the province and had been the centre of government in the region. During the civil war, when the foreign rulers were deposed, the house, almost miraculously, escaped destruction, instead falling into the hands of various warlords and revolutionaries, foolish individuals who wanted to hold the proof of Halus Ayer's victory. None of them lasted, and quickly the building fell into abandonment and disrepair. Years later, the mansion was picked up and renovated by Lord-Secretariat Elkan, the treasurer on the Council of Flames. As he directed the servants hurrying back and forth, preparing everything for the arriving guests, he reflected that there was a certain irony to the fact that the home of their former rulers was the place where they would decide the future of others.

Outside, the gravel crunched as the first of the other Council members pulled in. A rather old-fashioned car, in a style that had been popular in North Usea. Probably an antique. Then again, Elkan wasn't surprised when he saw who climbed out. Lord Saigon always had had a flair for the elaborate and expensive. Sometimes he thought the demon wasn't quite living in the same world as them. He watched from the window as the figure below swept along in his long overcoat while porters and footmen rushed to take his briefcase and bags. A moment later he heard the front door rattle open and footsteps as Saigon was led through to the main meeting room.
“Elkan, my old friend! How've you been? Axon almighty, a full meeting of the Council of Flames? We haven't had one of those in a long time. It better have been worth the trip - I passed up on golf with the General Marshal for this!” He paused, and raised an arm. “Oh, do excuse me, I'm sure you had good reason to call us here. Now, why don't you and I have a glass of something - is that Monet & Chardin I spot over there? - and relax while we wait for the others to arrive. I do believe I noticed Lares not too far back. You don't mind if I light a cigar, do you?”
Without waiting for a reply he sparked one up. Elkan waved his hand inconsequentially. It was pointless to try and interrupt Saigon, you just had to wait until he took a breath. However long that might be. Not someone to be underestimated though. For all his bluster and pompousness, he had risen to his position on the Council from rather humble beginnings in the armed forces, and was notorious for his ruthlessness to friend and foe alike. Saigon poured himself a generous glass and sat down by the window. The cough of an engine alerted them all to the next arrival, and they peered through the glass, trying to make them out.
“Oh, that'll be Lares now, I thought I'd spotted him on the road. Absolutely no sense of style, that demon, but a reliable fellow through and through.”
Elkan raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. It seemed that Saigon's prediction was right though, as Lares stepped out of the vehicle and was whisked inside to join them. As Saigon and Lares began a somewhat in-depth discussion on the agricultural industry, Elkan stepped away for a moment and made a phone call.
“They're just arriving now… yes, that's right… I'll let you know. Thank you. Goodbye.”
He hung up and stared at the courtyard outside. More cars were pulling in and Councillors were funnelling through to the meeting room. He took a deep breath in and exhaled. The day had arrived at last.

Elkan waited until they were all seated and the conversation had died down before he spoke. There were twelve of them at the table, all high-ranking officials forming the main government of Hellslayer. The Grand Architect was not in attendance, but it was at his request that they had convened.
“Good day to you, gentlemen,” he began. As usual, the words sounded a little ugly coming from his lips. He could never get them to sound meaningful. “We have come together today to agree upon a plan of action with regards to the recent labour shortage and the long-standing issue of infertility. As you all know, I was contacted by the Grand Architect himself to arrange this meeting.”
Elkan glanced sideways. As expected, there was a flash of anger in the eyes of the Lord-Secretariat of Demonkind, Alecto Imon. This was the third time he had been passed over by Sturm for chairing a meeting. Nobody else had noticed. Their attention was fixed on Elkan, who had placed himself, not by accident, at the head of the table.
“How is Sturm?” asked Dr. Berith. He was a small demon, ethnically Utopian before his conversion, and he seemed to be getting smaller. He had recently finished implementing a new cross-country railroad, and it seemed that the project had exhausted him.
“He is well,” Elkan replied. “He has important international business to mind.”
“And has he voiced his opinion on the matter?”
“No.” Elkan blinked heavily, as if to cut off any further discussion. “But he trusts us to find a solution ourselves. We have endured a difficult few years, with our presence and relevance on Avaris declining to a level unheard of prior. And I have heard unpleasant whispers, gentlemen. There are some governments and groups that no longer trust us, or consider us relevant. Sharing Project: Nyx with the Ridnezite government has been a disaster. Arcanic’s removal from office destroyed valuable research into the creation of demons. We have to prove to our allies - to the world - that we are back at full strength, and this is our opportunity! The work that we begin here will have echoes that will stretch across the globe.”

Pausing briefly, he took a sip of water to moisten his throat. He inclined his head in the direction of Belph, Lord-Secretariat of Education, who was seated beside him.
“Please, Lord-Secretariat Belph. Let us know of your thoughts.” The demon glanced up, as if mildly surprised at the request. He nodded several times, as if gathering his thoughts.
“Yes, thank you, Lord-Secretariat Elkan. Well, of course, we've known about this problem for a long time - the means to create new demons has been lost to us, and demons can only be made, not born. We can still die, albeit not easily. So what is the solution here? Hmm, I suggest that we invest in machinery, and limit the need for our citizens to work. Place them in safer clerical and administrative roles, ones that can be performed from safety, and limit the danger they are placed in. We need some way to stem the loss of demons. I don't believe the annual death toll is high, but implementing safety measures should be our foremost priority.”
On the far side of the table, a demon snorted. Belph shot them a glance. “Yes, Lord-Secretariat Oriens? Is there a problem?” The demon shook his head at him, his lip curling slightly in distaste.
“Oh no, my fine gentleman. No problem at all. Except for the fact you're trying to patch up a cracking dam with tape and glue. Trying to limit the number of deaths won't stop the problem, it'll only delay it.”
“And what would you do?” spat Belph. “Use your magic powers to duplicate yourself and solve the labour shortage yourself? One of you is bad enou–” He was cut off by Elkan's cough. This was going to be more difficult than he remembered. Tensions were already sky-high.
“Gentlemen, peace. Please, let each person give their thoughts.” Best to move on, he decided. Someone raised their hand.
“Yes, Lord-Secretariat Lares, do you have something to contribute?” The demon smiled slightly.
“My fellow Council members, I have thought about this, and it seems to me that we have completely missed the obvious solution.” Saigon raised an eyebrow.
“And what is that, pray tell?”
“The fact that we don't need more demons to fill our population shortage. There are people all around us that would be perfectly adequate labourers. Let us use the resources at our disposal.” The Council erupted into various shouts, jeers, applause; a cacophony of noise that took several minutes for Elkan to calm down.
“Gentlemen! Please! Let him finish. If this continues, I will be forced to dismiss this meeting and reschedule the entire thing.” Lares smirked, his lips twitching.
“Thank you, Lord-Secretariat Elkan. As I was saying, it seems to me that the heavens have aligned in our favour. A pandemic is shredding South Usea. Their forces will be depleted. Meanwhile, we have successfully reverse-engineered a sample cure manufactured in Ridnez. We are quite safe… and so would any labourers be. Our armed forces are well-trained and well-equipped, especially by the standards of the continent. This is a golden opportunity to strike and capture new lands and new people. And, as I'm sure Lord-Secretariat Belph will be pleased to hear, with these new hands helping in the more dangerous industries, it frees demons to work in the better paid, safer managerial positions. It kills two birds with one stone.”

There was silence as the idea sunk in. Around the table there were individuals nodding and shaking their heads. Finally Belph broke the silence.
“How would you manage all this? It'd be a logistical nightmare. Besides, don't you think they'd be a little hesitant to work for us if we invade by force?” This time, it was Saigon who spoke up.
“My dear Belph, don't you see? This is perfect! The logistics provides jobs for the people who were in the roles that will be taken by the slav– by the new workforce! And of course they'll be clamouring to serve us, because we can offer them the vaccine! It's genius, and I'm envious that I didn't think of it first.”
“But Lord-Secretariat Saigon, there's no way that we can possibly provide for more people. And where are we taking them from anyway? It's not like, like–” He stuttered as Lares cut in smoothly.
“With all due respect, Lord-Secretariat Belph, we don't need to provide for more people. They'll be allowed to provide for themselves. We give them a little patch of dirt and some seeds and leave them to it, so long as they fill their quotas of work. We can even use them to build their own camps.”
“Those sound hardly like liveable conditions. I wonder what the Avaris Accords and Armistice would make of all this.” Various members rapped on the table or scoffed.
“... Armistice can go…”
“... meant to be civilised…”
“... need the labour…”
Finally, Lord-Secretariat Alecto raised his voice, drowning down the mutters.
“The matter here isn't whether it's liveable or not! I couldn't give two damns about what the filth outside Hellslayer do - roll around on the ground like primitive apes, I suppose. But letting them into the country? Letting them do good work, honest work, to help our nation? It's sacrilege! I tell you now, our demons should be proud to hold a pick or a hoe, and know that they are doing their part. We don't need machines, and we don't need immigrants. Are we not stronger, better, than them? We can handle our own problems. I absolutely refuse this proposition.”
Saigon chuckled heartily, and downed the last of his wine.
“Alecto, sorry, Lord-Secretariat Alecto, you do make me laugh. Surely because we're the superior race, they should be serving us - it's only natural that the weak serve the strong. Besides, unless I understood Lares' intentions wrong, we'd be setting up camps abroad, not letting them into our homes, is that right?” Lares nodded, a smile still gripping his lips. There was a moment of silence, then Elkan spoke again.
“Very well. All in favour of Lares' plan?” One… two… nine hands. Belph did not raise his. Nor did Alecto. But everyone else…
“Passed. We will continue to plan the finer details, but in the meantime, if you'll all follow me, we'll take a break for refreshments.”

As they mingled, picking at the food and drinks laid out on the table, Elkan walked over to where Lares was standing, gazing out of the window.
“That was good work there, Lares. Your proposal captured their imagination. I approve.” The demon turned his stare onto Elkan.
“I was just doing what the Grand Architect told me. The credit is all his.” There was no smile on his face now, only a distant look in his eyes, as if seeing somewhere far beyond the house.
“Well, of course, I mean… that is to say, not many could have pulled it off as well as you. I must give you credit for that.” Lares only stared.
“Do you know, I was in the army before Halus Ayer became Hellslayer. I've seen war, which is more than I can say for others at the table. They dream only of glory. Belph is right. It is brutish and bloody, but it is also beautiful. We've forgotten the meaning of mortality, so caught up in our own power. I think this conflict will be good for Hellslayer. It will remind us of who we are. Ask Saigon, he'll say the same, for all his airs and graces. We're two of a kind.”
Elkan nodded politely, unsure of how to proceed from that.
“Well, I'll leave you to it.”
As he was crossing to the table, someone tugged at his sleeve. Dr. Berith and Oriens pulled him over, keeping their voices low.
“We're happy to offer our support,” began Berith. “But you have to understand, this plan mustn't overrule our departments. I know Saigon and Lares are military men, they understand war, and we'll need that. But once the war is won, you'll find you need us far more. Trains to transport men and goods, energy to power the camps, hell, you'll even need Belph to reeducate the youth and cement our control. I want you to promise you'll let us keep command of our posts. We know them better than any army commander who'll butcher the fine details with their strong-headed approach.”
“I'll do what I can,” Elkan said diplomatically. It seemed to be sufficient and he was able to fill a glass before calling everyone back to the table.

“Now, please, gentlemen,” he started. “A reminder that we must respect everyone. An additional reminder that we are not reconvening to discuss the plan of action - that has been decided, so, Belph, Alecto, hold your tongues, or I swear you will be thrown out of this meeting.”
Alecto grimaced, opened his mouth, then closed it again.
“Now, the plan is to employ a new workforce from abroad by conquering and commandeering communities. I suppose the first question is where we want to take the labour force from. We're bordered on three sides–” Elkan paused and snapped his fingers at a servant, who scampered off, returning moments later with an armful of maps.
“Ah, yes, we're bordered on three sides: Khoumariya, with this thin strip to the sea, Qurar, and Eastern Arellistan, just across the water. Thoughts, gentlemen?”
Saigon stood up and leant across the table, looking down at the maps. He jabbed his finger.
“The Khoumariyan front looks easy enough to break through with enough forces, but it isn't big, and their military will put up a ruddy good fight. Wouldn't be any good to lose more troops than we get labourers. Eastern Arellistan is pretty unstable and would be an easy target, but shipping everything back and forth… Well, it's not ideal. Qurar, though, now there's an idea. The government's pretty weak, rebel forces that might be willing to support us - or us them - and plenty of people to… to work with.”
He nodded, pleased with his analysis.
“Any of you fellows back in your offices want to add anything?”
Dr. Berith leant back in his seat.
“Not at all. It suits my department perfectly. We can simply extend the Trans-Ancead railroad straight over the border.” Oriens nodded in agreement.
“Far easier to extend pipelines and wires over land than over open waters.” Murmurs of approval rippled around the table. Belph frowned.
“You still haven't explained what you plan to do with all these people. They work out there in some sort of internment camp of their own making, is that what I'm meant to understand? What, and you trust them to build their own prison?”
“I trust them to work efficiently when they know the alternative is death,” Lares fired back coolly. “I trust them to be kept too weak and dependent to even consider an alternative.”
If Belph's expression had been cold before, it was now icy stone.
“You know they will die. Is this what Hellslayer has become? Is this what it means to be a demon? Who are the savages here - them or us, for resorting to slavery?” Saigon slammed his hand down onto the table, making it quiver.
“Oh, do you really want to start on such accusations, Belph? Slavery? Pah, it's a fair exchange. We're helping them! You'd rather leave them to choke on their own blood once the Uthuan Terror gets to them? They'll be damned grateful to work for us. It's more than they deserve.” Belph growled and got to his feet, but Alecto interjected.
“It's more than they deserve. It's more than they deserve. You're right about that one, Lord-Secretariat Saigon. I say let them die of the disease. It doesn't affect us. We don't even have to do anything - it's natural selection at work. It proves our superiority. And the beauty of it is that we don't have to lift a finger.”
Saigon's lip curled and his eyes narrowed as he stared down Alecto from across the table.
“Alecto, are you an idiot? If we wait for everyone to die from the pandemic before we can inherit the world, then where, for the love of Axon, are you planning to get new demons from? We cannot birth them, they must be made. That is what we are trying to solve without pandering to your absurd sense of self-worth. Put aside your pride as a demon for a moment and bloody work with us!”
Elkan had had enough.
“Silence! You heard what I said at the start. We are here to plan our acquisition of new labour - Alecto, I don't want to hear another word from your mouth, or I swear that you will be thrown out of here and your conduct reported back to the Grand Architect. Now, does everyone agree that Qurar should be our focus?” Nods and murmurs of approval ran around the table. A few rapped their knuckles. Alecto sat back, saying nothing, glowering.
“I propose that command of the invasion be given over to Lord-Secretariats Saigon and Lares. They can get in contact with the Marshals and other Council members as needed. All in favour?”
Every hand except Alecto's was raised. Even Belph half-heartedly made a gesture of approval.
“Very well. This meeting is concluded. Feel free to stay for further refreshments.”

The Council of Flames dispersed. Saigon and Lares and a handful of other Council members stayed, scribbling lines and arrows on the maps. Dr. Berith and Oriens filled up on refreshments, whispering in a corner. They shot Elkan a dirty look as he passed - no doubt upset that he had given others a blank cheque of command rather than sharing it amongst the Council. Meanwhile, Belph wandered slowly back to his car, seemingly deep in thought. Alecto had disappeared somewhere. A servant ran up to Elkan.
“A phone call for you, sir.”
He took the phone.
“Yes, my Lord, almost unanimous approval. We can begin moving the troops towards the border. The finer details will be worked out and relayed to you soon. Let the enemy tremble at our coming. War is here at last.”

Just outside Taraf, Qurar - 09:30, 1 March 2024

“And just where do you think you've been?”
Halim called out as Jawad came into view of the path, breathing heavily. He was lying on the ground, with the small oil generator bolted to the house hanging precariously over him, fixing whatever had gone wrong with it this time. His arms were covered in grease and grime, and annoyance painted his face. Jawad's face was slightly flushed.
“I was gathering apples in the mountains, like Aya asked me,” he said. His voice sounded whiny and he knew it, but he couldn't help himself.
“There's work to be done, and boys are off playing.” He looked back at the generator as something inside clanked and he swore profusely.
“I said I wasn't playing, if you'd actually listened to me! Aya wanted me to gather apples so I was gathering bloody apples!” Jawad's face darkened.
“Uh-huh,” Halim said, glancing back at him. “And where might those apples be?
The apples were… not in his hands. He didn't even remember dropping the bag, but he must have done at some point.
Halim sighed. “Look, Jawad, it's not like we ask you to do much around here.” He paused to glower as Jawad coughed loudly. “We don't ask you to do much, but we can't keep this farm running on our own. If you ever finished your chores, which you don't, we'd still be playing catch-up. So please, just give the rest of us a little more thought next time.”
Jawad turned and began walking away.
“Where's Aya?” he called out over his shoulder.
Halim got to his feet, his face hardening. “Lambing starts in a week, Jawad.”
There was nothing for Jawad to do except repeat himself. “Where's Aya?”
“You get the sheep fed and into their pens. And then I want you to fix the gate to the field. Properly this time. I've asked you at least twice now.”
Jawad spun around, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “‘Well, how was your trip up the mountains, Jawad?’ ‘Oh, it was absolutely fine, Da, thank you for asking.’ ‘Did you see anything interesting while up there, Jawad?’ ‘Funny you should ask me that, Da, because I sure did see something interesting that might explain why I don't have apples and I'm breathing like an asthmatic, but I guess it'll have to wait until the sheep are fed and the bloody gate is fixed.’”
“You watch your tongue, young man,” Halim said. “I don't have time for your games. Go and do the sheep.”
Jawad clenched his fists and growled in frustration, but, unable to think of a suitable retort, stamped away.
“The sheep, Jawad,” Halim called after him. “The sheep first.”
“I'll do the bloody sheep,” he muttered to himself, walking faster, “while the men with guns come right over the ridge.”
“What was that?” Halim said, something in his voice making Jawad turn around again. He sat up by the generator, his full attention on Jawad, his eyes searching him.
“What do you care? I've got bloody sheep to feed.” He started to walk away again.
“Jawad, wait!” He called out after him, but the generator started to cough and splutter, and with another oath, he turned back to it, the noise getting fainter as Jawad headed out into the fields.

They lived about a kilometre east of Taraf, right by the mountains, rearing sheep and wheat and an orchard of apple trees. The rocky terrain and poor soil made wheat difficult, so Halim and his sister, Aya, took care of that, mostly. But ever since he was taller than the sheep, Jawad had taken care of them. Feeding, and watering, and shearing, and lambing, and even castrating and butchering. As one of the three meat and wool producers in the town, there was no rest from work. His mother had died just a few years after he was born, too, so there were less hands available to help. He had to do enough for two, day after day, and it was exhausting. Rear. Shear. Water. Feed. Butcher. Not an ounce of gratitude back, he thought bitterly. And when Mr. Yiwa died, who would get his flock? They would, and it would be up to Jawad to fold the new flock into theirs. The work would double, as if it weren’t back-breaking enough. It might be a living, but not a life.

The sound of Aya's whistling drifted over the farm, interrupting Jawad's thoughts. Following the sound, he tracked her down to one of the corners of the wheat field. It was fully planted, but harvest season was still a few months away, so there wasn't much to be done with it at the moment except to make sure all the generators, threshers, and equipment were in good condition. Jawad reflected that this might have meant he'd get a little help with the sheep, but he never did. As she whistled, he recognised the tune, a lullaby from when he was young. His blood was still roaring from the argument, but he immediately felt a little calmer. Even if it was a song for infants.
“Hello, Jawad.”
“Hi, Aya.” He looked at the ground, kicking a stone.
“You calming down there, Jawad?” she finally said. “Remembering who you are?”
“Yeah,” he answered, “it's just, why does he have to come at me like that? Why can't he just say hello? Not even a greeting, it's just, ‘I know you've done something wrong and I'll keep needling at you until I find out what it is’.”
“That's just his way, Jawad. You know that. And you know he cares.”
“So you keep saying.” He snatched a blade of young wheat and jammed the end in his mouth, glancing off to the side, not looking at Aya.
“Left the apples at the house, did you?” Jawad looked at her and chewed on the wheat. She knew he didn't. She could tell.
“And there's a reason,” she said, twisting the spout on the irrigation system. “There's a reason you haven't mentioned.” She peered at him, her eyes softening, full of concern. “What's going on?”
He sighed. “I saw something. Out in the mountains. Hundreds of people moving together, marching. They had guns. They looked like an army or something and –”
He stopped. She was staring at him, eyes wide, and from a little way behind, he could hear Halim calling out. Aya was just looking at him, so hard and long that it became uncomfortable and Jawad had to say something just to break the tension.
“Is it the army?” he said. “Who is it?”
“Aya?” Halim was yelling across the fields now.
“Are we in danger?” he asked Aya. “Will there be a war?”
Aya shook her head. “Oh, hell,” she murmured, quietly. “Oh, my life, we have to get you out of here. We have to get you out of here right now.”

Halim came running up but before he could say anything Aya cut him off. “Don't say a word.”
She turned to Jawad too. “Don't speak. Hide. Hide as best you can.” She grabbed his shoulders and shook him, squeezing tight enough to leave a tingle.
“Aya, what's going on?”
Halim looked at Aya. “We're going to have to do it now.”
“I know.”
“What's going on?” Jawad said again, louder this time. “Do what now?” He twisted away from Aya and stood square, looking at both of them.
Aya and Halim exchanged glances and then turned their attention back to him. “You have to leave Taraf,” Aya said quietly.
Jawad stared at each of them in turn, back and forth, his forehead creasing in confusion and concern. “What do you mean, I have to leave Taraf? There ain't nowhere to go. I don't know anywhere except Taraf. It's my home.”
They glanced at each other again.
“Come on.” Halim gestured with his arm. “We've already packed your bag.”
“How the hell can you have packed my bag already?”
Halim turned to Aya. “We probably don't have much time.”
“Will someone please tell me what the bloody hell is going on?” Jawad roared. “What goddamned plan?”
“You'll get an explanation,” Aya murmured, taking him by the arm and pulling him along. “You'll get more than you ever wanted.”
By the time they made it back to the house, Jawad wasn't sure what to expect. An army charging over the hills. The police force kicking their door in. The whole house in flames. But instead, there was nobody there. The house was just as it always was, quiet and farm-like. Halim cracked open the back door, went into the prayer room, and started pulling boards up from the floor. Aya rushed to the pantry and started throwing dried foods and fruit into a cloth sack, then she went into the bathroom and took out a small medicine bag and threw that in too.
“I'm not leaving,” he said, as they kept working. They paid him no mind. “I'm not leaving,” he repeated, as Aya stepped past him into the prayer room to help Halim lift up boards. They found what they were looking for and Halim pulled out a rucksack, an old one that Jawad thought had been lost. Aya opened the top and rummaged around inside. Jawad could see some clothes of his and what looked like a book. Aya closed it, almost reverently, wrapped it inside a plastic bag to protect it, and put it in the rucksack. They both turned to Jawad.
“I ain't going nowhere,” he repeated again. Then there was a knock at the door. For a moment, nobody said anything, did anything. They all looked at each other, wondering what to do next. Then a second thud shook the door, and a voice called out in a foreign language.
“Damn and blast,” Aya muttered.
“Stay here,” Halim hissed, and headed for the door. Aya shoved the sack of food in the rucksack and tied it shut. “Put this on,” she whispered.
The sound of Halim opening the front door was faint, but sounded as loud as thunder to Jawad. The foreigner repeated themselves again, and then the sound of some sort of scuffle could be heard. There was a loud crack.
Aya looked at Jawad, and dragged him out of the room to get to the back door. He briefly saw Halim and the figure on the ground, wrestling for control of a rifle, and for a split-second he glanced up at him and caught his eye. There was a look to him, a look written all over him, that this was a bigger goodbye than it even seemed, that this was it, the last time he ever expected to see him. Jawad opened his mouth to say something but then the door closed on him and he was gone.

“I’ll get you down to the stream,” Aya said, as they hurried over the fields for the second time that morning. “You can follow it down to where it meets the desert.”
“There isn’t a path down that way, Aya,” Jawad griped. “And the desert is a death sentence without water. You trying to get me killed?”
She glanced back at him, her eyes level, but she kept hurrying. “There’s no other way, Jawad.”
He gave up trying to understand what was going on since nobody seemed to see fit to tell him anything. They kept moving past the sheep, still not in their paddocks, and now probably never getting there. They turned past the main barn and down the irrigation tracks, heading to where the wilderness consumed the land, the beginning of the rest of the world. Aya didn't speak until the town was out of sight.
“There's enough food in your rucksack to last for a bit, but you'll have to make it stretch. Eat whatever you can find or hunt.”
“How long have I got to make it last? How long until I can come back?”
Aya stopped. The stream gurgled quietly as it trickled along, not too far away. Suddenly, it seemed the loneliest place on Avaris.
“You aren't coming back, Jawad,” Aya said quietly. “You can't.”
“Why not?” His voice was a kitten's mewling, but he couldn't help it. “What'd I do, Aya?”
Aya hugged him briskly. “You didn't do anything, Jawad. You didn't do anything at all.” The world had been the same as ever when he woke up, but now it was crashing down. He was being sent away, treated like he was dying. It wasn't fair. He didn't know quite why it wasn't fair, but it wasn't. Aya turned him around, opened his backpack, and took something out. The book.
Jawad looked at her, then looked away. “You know I don't read too well.” His face reddened, embarrassed.
“I know,” she said gently. “I always meant to–” She stopped, and held out the book again. “It was our mother's. It's her journal, starting from when you were born. Till the day she died.”
Aya ran her hand over the cover. “We promised her we'd protect you,” she said.
“Did you expect this? Did you know this was coming? Did she?”
“No, that was a surprise.” She looked up at the sky, as if to tell it just how surprised she was. “No one would have guessed it was coming.” She pressed the book into his hands. He started shaking his head.
“Aya–”
“I know, Jawad. But try your best.”
“No, Aya–”
She caught his eye and held them. “Do you trust me?”
Jawad blinked, confused, unsure how to answer. “'Course I do. Or well, I did before you started packing bags I didn't know about.”
She simply looked at him harder. “Do you trust me?”
“I trust you.”
“Folded into the front of that book is a map,” Aya said. “You'll know what to do.” Her voice shook a little, as if she was not at all sure that he'd know what to do.
“How did you know to have a bag already packed? If those soldiers were unexpected, why were you so ready to throw me out into the wilderness?”
“It was the plan ever since you were little.” He saw her swallow, heard the sadness in her voice. “As soon as you were old enough to make it on your own–”
“You were just going to throw me out to the beasts.” He stepped back.
“No. There's no future here. But you could make it somewhere else. You could live a better life than anything we could offer you. But not so soon. Not so soon.”
She shook her head and held out the book. “I'm sorry,” she said. “I'm sorry it has to be this way.” She pulled Jawad close to her again. “Always remember, we love you. Me and Halim both.”
He started to pull away, to complain, but the words never left his mouth.

There was a crack somewhere not too far off, ringing between the mountains, and there was only one place it could be from. Aya let go and instinctively spun back to face the farm.
“I'll come with you! I'll help you fight! I'm strong!” Jawad started forward.
“No!” Aya shouted. “You have to get away. Promise me. Go through the desert and get away!”
Jawad said nothing for a moment.
“Promise me!” she said again, demanding an answer.
“I promise.”
A second bang rang out from the farm. Aya looked back towards it, then glanced at Jawad. “Go. Follow the creek down to the desert and cross it. Run as fast as you can and you'd better not turn back, Jawad.” She took his arm and gripped it hard. “If I can find you, I will, I swear it,” she
said. “But you keep going, Jawad. You keep your promise.”
This was it. This was goodbye. A goodbye he hadn't even been looking for.
“Aya–”
“Go!” she shouted, and took off, looking back once as she raced off back to the
farm, back to whatever was happening at the end of the world.
Jawad turned to run, even though every inch of him was telling him to follow Aya as she ran across the fields in the opposite direction. He stopped for a second when he heard more bangs from the direction of the house, which must have been gunshots, and thought of the rifle that Halim had been wrestling for, and then all of the soldiers he'd seen in the mountains. The fight wouldn't take long. He had to make every second count. He forced his legs to kick harder and propelled himself over the searing sands of the desert.

Eastern Qurar - 21:00, 1 March 2024

Jawad had run until his legs gave way, sending him crashing into the sand. He had lain there for a few moments, breathing in the heat, before pulling himself painfully to his feet. One step at a time, he had forced himself forward, plodding on steadily ever further from everything he had known and loved and into the endless unknown. It was fear, fear and a sort of exhilaration, that kept him going that night. He sang to the stars, to the endless sea of sand. They seemed so close, those stars, close enough to hear him. The night was comforting in a way. Its immensity and darkness cocooned him, protected him. He ate a little food and drank a little too. Not even the cry of dogs, somewhere in the blackness, not close yet not far enough away, bothered him. He felt a sort of guardian angel watching over him.

Only when the sun came up the next day and the desert became alive around him, only then did he begin to feel alone in this wild and unfamiliar place with nothing but sand and grit for miles around in every direction. Even Taraf had disappeared from sight. He’d been following a creek, but at some point in the darkness it had shrivelled up and disappeared. That was when he realised how little water was in his bottle. There was no more singing. He was beginning to realise just how vast this place was, and how lost he was. He didn’t like to admit it though, even to himself. His own legs carried him forward, purposeful and surefooted as ever, as if of their own mind.

How quickly he fell into despair. And as the sun rose to its zenith, how quickly the blistering heat sapped his strength, and his spirits too. The desire for water quickly became a craving, and as much as he tried to conserve his bottle, he soon found himself shaking it to desperately coax out any last drops. The need to find it became obsessive. Every shimmering watery horizon he spotted raised his hopes, but he soon found that he could not trust even the evidence of his own eyes. Mirages mocked him again and again. He tried his best to ignore them. But the mirage was only a mirage once he had discovered it’s a mirage. Until then it was a pool of cold, clear water just waiting for him, a pool of hope.

The deep gulf he was following was rocky and gritty, but on the banks, there were batches of brambles and stringy plants. Where there were plants, there must be water, he reasoned. So he followed the dried-up gully, hoping all the while to find a hidden pool in the shadows, but everywhere he found only dust and hot air. There wasn’t a sign of moisture. And all through this futile search, the sun continued to rise ever higher, blaze ever hotter.

Gathering enough thoughts to do anything was difficult, but he did manage to concentrate to invest all of his last hopes into one decision. He could see the ground ahead of him rise steeply into a granite cliff. From the top of this cliff, he would be able to see for miles around, perhaps spot a river or an oasis. Struggling to move exhausted limbs, he first walked, then staggered, then crawled his way up the slope to the highest point of the cliff. Gazing down from the height, the whole of Qurar lay before him, it seemed, as wide as an ocean, and just as inhospitable too.

He could see the gully winding its way through the desert, other gullies joining it to make one great swathe of sand through the barren land, but no glint of water anywhere, not a shimmer. His head was swimming so much now that he often thought he would faint. He could hardly stand. Staggering one, two, three paces, he stumbled on a loose stone and fell, rolling into the valley, out of the sun. There he lay, his eyelids heavy and swollen, weary to the bone. The shade was cool, and the warm sand was enticing. He wrestled with the exhaustion that kept creeping up on him, fearing that if he fell asleep, he might never wake up. Nevertheless, sleep came, surprisingly quickly, and was surprisingly welcome.

It was evening when he woke and he knew at once he was not alone. There was a silhouette crouched a few paces away. He squinted through the darkness. The figure stared back, it’s face ghostly pale in the moonlight. Her face. It was a girl, looking back at him like he was going to kill her. She scuttled backwards, hit the edge of the ravine, and hunched into a ball, trying to make herself as small as possible, her eyes darting fearfully at him, at his face, his eyes.
"Who are you?" Jawad’s words failed him, catching in his parched throat. He gritted his teeth and forced air through his ragged vocal cords. "Who are you?" he repeated. His voice was a raspy, hoarse whisper, but the sentence hung between them. She only stared at him. Stared, and stared. Something had to happen. Someone had to do something. And in this lonely sea of sand, there was nobody else but him.
"Can you understand me?" She merely looked back at him. She seemed like she might be calming down slightly. At least, she wasn’t shaking as much as before, her arms had dropped slightly, and she wasn’t glancing around as if looking to run off at the first opportunity. What to do? What to do? Aya had said he’d follow the creek and know what to do, but he didn’t know what to do. She’d never mentioned a girl. She’d never mentioned the crippling thirst, or the way the landscape blurred into an endless barren wasteland. The girl looked back at him, her face unchanging, her eyes glinting in the dying sunlight.
"Okay," he said, and took a step back, keeping his eyes on her. "You stay there, okay? You just stay right there." Her eyes never left him either. He slowly slid his rucksack off his back and dropped it to the ground. Fishing around inside, he pulled out the book. It was heavier than he’d imagined words could be, with a strange coppery smell, and pages and pages of his mother’s writing. That’d have to wait. He checked the inside cover, and just like Aya had mentioned, there was paper folded inside it. He unravelled and examined it. There was a hand-drawn map on one side, and then a large amount of words, maybe instructions, on the back, but in the dim light there was no way he’d ever be able to decipher them, so he just looked at the map.

His house was right at the top, and the town was just below, with the stream he’d been following off to one side, leading into the desert. But there was more to it. The brook became a small gully and wriggled its way through the wasteland towards a city on the other side. There were arrows drawn following along the bank and through the desert, showing the path he was meant to take, and he traced them with his finger, guiding him–
There was a sharp crack and there was a blinding light for a second as something crashed into his head and Jawad fell, his head ringing. But, as he fell, he threw himself backwards and crashed into the attacker before hitting the ground, sending them both rolling in the dust down the slope. He got slowly, painfully, to his feet. The girl pulled herself away and sat looking up at him. She must have dropped whatever she hit him with.
"What the hell was that for?" he tried to roar, but his dry throat wouldn’t let him, the words coming out in a furious whisper. She just looked at him, breathing heavily. It really was getting dark now. The sun had passed over the horizon, with only a faint glow touching the sky. Time kept passing, and he knew he wasn’t supposed to wait here, but he also wasn’t meant to go back, and there wasn’t meant to be a girl. Everything had gone to hell.
"Hey," he said, taking a few deep breaths to calm down, his fingers feeling his scalp. There was a lump, but it didn’t seem to be bleeding. "Hey, look. I’m not going to hurt you. Can you understand me? I ain’t going to hurt you, so long as you don’t hit me, okay?" He rummaged around in his bag, and pulled out a torch. Shining it on the map, he held it up for her to see.
"I," he said, gesticulating, "came from here. This outcrop should be around here. And we need to get there." His finger jabbed at points on the map. She glanced at him and the torch, and pointed further down the ravine.
"What? We don’t have time–"
She pointed into the darkness and started walking.
"Hey!" Jawad called out. "Hey!" But he had no choice but to follow. "We have to stick to the map. He snatched up his backpack and staggered after her. The torch barely kept her in sight. Finally, after what seemed an age, but was probably no longer than twenty minutes, he found her standing by something, no more than a silhouette in the night, waiting for him, watching him come.
"What’re you doing?" he panted, finally catching up to her. "Where’re you–"
And then he saw it. The object glinted under the feeble light of the torch. There was a long gouge in the sand, like someone had run a knife through it, and at the end were the burnt-out remains of a truck. The back door had been torn cleanly off, and the combination of charring and the inky darkness made it difficult to discern, but sweeping his torch along the debris, he noticed first the bars, then the chains; it appeared to be some kind of prisoner transport. He checked the front seats, and quickly wished he hadn’t, the weak light illuminating the mangled corpses of the drivers.
"Did you crash here?" Jawad asked. "Where’re you from?"
But, of course, she didn’t say anything, just glanced off into the darkness, folded her arms, and walked off. This time, he didn’t follow. He kept looking at the truck. A prison on wheels, that’s what it had to be. But what the bloody hell was it doing here, in the middle of the desert? He’d never seen anything like it back home either. The girl appeared around the side, and stared at him, not smiling, not crying, just as blank as ever. Then she walked past him, walked along the drag marks, walked to the hole in the back, climbed up and disappeared inside.

"Hey!" Jawad called out, following her over the wreckage. "We can’t be hanging out–"
He got to the doorway at the same time she popped her head out, making him stagger backwards. She waited for him to move out of the way, then dropped down from the truck, carrying a bag in one hand, and a couple small packets in the other. He glanced back at the door, hopping a little, trying to peer inside. It was as much a wreck as he’d imagined; there were pieces of shrapnel and items tumbled everywhere, like it had been through a shredder.
"How’d you live through that?" he asked, turning around. But the girl was busy. She’d put down the bag and packs, and gathered a few dusty, dry twigs. He looked at her in disbelief.
"We ain’t got time for—" She rummaged inside and pulled out a lighter. There were a few clicks and then a small flame flared up from the pile of tinder. He just stood there, gaping like a fool. She leaned in, rubbing her arms a bit, and it was only then that he realised that he was cold and aching all over, and a fire was as close a blessing as he could hope for. However hot it had been in the day, the sun had drawn all the heat with it as it had disappeared over the horizon, and it was now bitterly cold.

He looked out into the darkness, as if he’d be able to see anyone coming. Nothing, of course, and there were no sounds either. No one was close. Not yet. He looked back at the fire.
"Only for a second," he muttered. He walked over to the fire and started warming up his hands, keeping his rucksack on. The girl ripped open one of the packs and threw it to him. He frowned at it until she dipped her fingers into her own pack, taking out what must be a piece of dried fruit or something and eating it.

She’d given him food. And fire.

Her face still had no expression at all, just blank as a stone as she stood by the fire and ate. He started eating, too. The fruit, or whatever it was, were like shrivelled little dots, but they were sweet, chewy, and much needed. He felt much better.
"I’m sorry," Jawad said, though he didn’t know what for. He shifted his backpack. It felt heavier than ever. "Thanks for the food, but we have to go. You coming with?"
The girl looked at him for a second, then used her boot to kick sand over the sticks, and stamped out the sparks. Pulling the bag she had rescued from the wreckage over her shoulder, she stood up, as if she had always planned on coming with him.
"Well," he said, when all she did was stare at him. "I guess we’re ready then."
Neither of them moved. Jawad looked back at the truck. She did too, but only for a second. He wanted to say something more, but he didn’t know what to say. He opened his mouth anyway, but she started rummaging through her bag, and pulled out a battered torch. She flicked it on, and walked towards him, then past him, as if they were already on their way. As if there weren’t dead bodies lying just a few feet away.

He watched her go for a moment. Then he called out.
"Oi!"
She glanced back at him.
"Not that way." He pointed to the left. "This way."
He headed off in the correct direction. Looking back, the girl was following. Jawad took one last look behind her, at the wreckage, and as much as he wanted to search it for more useful items, he also knew they had to move. The moon was large and bright, giving just enough light to guide their way. They couldn’t run over the shifting sands, but they walked quickly, or at least as quickly as they could. The girl kept up, not falling behind, but not getting too close either. Jawad didn’t mind; he needed to think.

There was no noise or sign of anyone else in this desolate place, nobody chasing them, nothing. Maybe Aya and Halim had thrown them off the trail. Maybe the reason he was running wasn’t so important anyway. Maybe–

The girl stopped to shake sand out of her shoe. The girl. No, they were coming. The only "maybe" was that maybe they were waiting for daybreak so that they’d travel all the faster. So they trudged on and on and on, getting weaker and more tired. He pulled out some of the food in his own rucksack and gave a small bite to everyone, payment for earlier.

And then more walking and more walking.

And then there came a time when they simply couldn’t keep going.
"We gotta stop," Jawad wheezed, dropping his bag next to a large rock. "We gotta rest."
The girl dropped her own satchel down by another rock without needing any more convincing and they both collapsed, leaning on their bags like pillows.
"Five minutes," he said. "Only five minutes. Don’t get too comfortable."
They had to keep going, there was no doubt. He’d only close his eyes for a minute or two, just to get a little rest, and then they would be able to keep on going faster than before. Just a little rest, that was all.

Jawad opened his eyes, screwing them against the light. The sun was up. Only a little, but sunrise had arrived. Damn. They’d lost at least an hour, maybe two. And then he realised that it wasn’t the light that had woken him. A second cry sent a chill through his bones, and he scrambled to his feet, only to see that it wasn’t a man. A large bird, at least a metre in height, with a long wrinkled neck, was peering down at him from the stone he had rested against. It had feathers but they looked more like fur. Its long legs ended in sharp talons that clutched the rocky outcrop.
"Don’t worry," he called over to the girl. "They don’t attack humans."
Well, usually they didn’t. Maybe they were so close to death that it didn’t matter to the scavenger. Slowly searching through his bag, he fished out a chunk of cheese wrapped in cloth that Aya had packed. Perhaps it would take it and leave.
The bird sniffed it, bit it, and gobbled it down, its neck rippling in long waves as it swallowed. It snapped its beak a few times, as if pleased. But then its neck started rippling the other way and, with a loud hack, it coughed the block of cheese back up, covered in spit but barely even crushed, flying right at Jawad, smacking him on the cheek and leaving a trail of slime across his face.

And then he heard another sound. The girl was standing by her own rock, watching the bird, and she was laughing. She was smiling. The bird fluttered off, croaking and retching. Jawad wiped the gunk from his face with his sleeve, and he could see the girl smiling at him all the while.
"Think that’s funny, do you?" he said, and she quickly hid her expression as if she wasn’t smiling, but she was.
"Yeah," he said, taking charge again. "We slept for too long. We gotta go."

They got on with walking without any more words or smiling. Soon the ground began to become more solid and even, more rocky and less sandy. It started to rise a little into a ridge. They climbed it and stopped briefly at the top. The girl held out another pack of the dried fruit. Breakfast. They ate, still standing, gazing out over the horizon. Looking out over the landscape, the way ahead was clear. There was a dark line cutting through the ground - some sort of ravine - and two smaller mountains beyond that, obscured by a rising haze of heat. The sun was climbing now, and began bearing down on them.
"That’s where we’re going," he said, pointing. "Or where I think we’re sposed to go, anyway."
They stood an arm’s length apart, but there was something between them now, a shared hope. He chewed on a piece of dried fruit and wondered what a city was like. Probably like a town, but bigger. Hadn’t he heard something recently about cities? On the news? He racked his brain, trying to remember. He hadn’t paid attention at the time, but now… It had mentioned something… the Uthuan, the Uthuan Terror? K1-something-or-other? The disease killing South Use–

Oh.

Oh damn.

It must have shown on his face, because the girl looked over, surprised.
"No!" he said quickly. "Don’t worry. I was just… just thinking of something. It’s nothing." But she was already backing away, her eyes wide.
"It’s–" he started to say, but what could he say? He couldn’t just lead her to her death. "I think… I think I heard there’s a disease… killing South Useans. But I’m wrong. I’m wrong. It was ages ago, and I don’t listen to the news."
Damn it. Goddamn it all to hell.
"Say something!" he shouted. She stepped back further, her hand over her mouth, her eyes questioning. He desperately tried to think of something, anything to make it alright, but there was nothing. He barely remembered the news report, much less what it said about it. Only death. The girl dropped to the ground, her knees up against her chest, rocking back and forth, eyes wide but blank as ever.
"Look," he said, crouching next to her, knowing he had no idea what to say next. "Look," he said again, and again nothing came to him. He just crouched there, not saying anything, and she sat there rocking herself, until there didn’t seem to be anything else to do but sit next to her, keeping a little distance out of respect. She rocked and he sat and wondered what to do. They passed a good few minutes in this manner, minutes they should have been moving, the day moving on around them. Finally he had another thought.

Reaching into his bag, he brought out the book. Aya had said all the answers were in there, and maybe they really were. He opened it. It was all written, all words, all in his mother’s handwriting, pages and pages of it. Ah, well, anyway, he pulled out the map from the inside cover and flipped it over to Aya’s writing on the back, the first chance he’d had to look at it in the light. Go to, those were definitely the first words, and then some longer words that he didn’t have time to decipher. But at the bottom of the page Aya had underlined a group of words strung together.

He glanced back at the girl, who was still rocking, and turned his back to her. He put his finger under the first word. Right.
Yoo? You, it had to be you. Okay. M. Muu? Mose? Mossed? You mossed? What the hell does that mean? Wuh. Wuh. Wuhar. Wuharn? Thuh. Thuheem. You mossed wuharn thuheem? No, wait, it must be them. You mossed wuharn them? What? He let out a grunt of frustration. He looked at the book again and flipped through the pages. Dozens of them, hundreds of them, all with more words scrawled in every corner, none of them saying anything, no answers of any kind. Stupid bloody book. He scrunched the map back inside and hurled the book into the sand at his feet.
"Stupid bloody book," he said, aloud this time, kicking it down the ridge. He turned back to the girl. She was still rocking back and forth, back and forth, and he knew, he understood, but she was starting to annoy him with her bloody silence. Because if this was a dead end, then he had nothing left to offer, and she wasn’t offering him anything either. His blood started to boil.

"I didn’t ask for this, you know," he said. She didn’t even look at him. "Hey, I’m talking to you!"
But nothing. Nothing, nothing, nothing.
"I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO!" He had suddenly had enough, and stamped around, shouting through his sore throat, his voice scratchy.
"I don’t know what to do! I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO! I’m SORRY! I’m sorry this is happening but I don’t know what to do about it and STOP BLOODY ROCKING!" He get out a guttural cry of anger and frustration. He took a few breaths and waited. Nothing changed. That was something he was quickly learning: if you don’t change something, it doesn’t get changed. He couldn’t just wait around for someone else to fix it anymore.
"We gotta keep moving," he said, furiously snatching up his rucksack. "We ain’t got the disease yet, and we don’t know what’ll happen, but that’s all there is, so that’s what we have to do."
Rock, rock, rock.
"We can’t go back, so we have to keep going onwards."
Rock, rock, rock.
"I know you can hear me!"
She didn’t even flinch. Suddenly, he was too tired.
"Fine. You stay here and rock yourself to sleep. Who cares? Who bloody gives a damn anymore?"
He looked down at the book on the ground. Stupid thing. But it was what he had, so he bent down and picked it up, wrapped it in the plastic bag, and shoved it back in the rucksack, then swung the rucksack over his shoulder. He turned and took one last look behind him.

There was a flicker of movement, in the very distance. Heat haze? The wind? He stood still, watching. Watched, as his insides twisted. Watched, as a tiny cloud of dust and sand became visible on the horizon. And it was heading right their way.

Eastern Qurar - 10:20, 3 March 2024

Jawad watched the cloud of dust twist along the horizon. It could have been the wind, or a sandstorm, or anything, but he knew it wasn’t. He scurried backwards, as if they would spot him all the way across here.
“Come on!” he said, seizing the girl’s arm. “We have to go!”
She pulled back from him, but he didn’t release her.
“No!” he shouted. “You don’t understand. We have to go now!”
She lashed out with her fists, trying to force him to let go, but he clung on.
“Listen. I don't know what's ahead. I don’t know anything, but whatever it is, it’s gotta be better than what’s behind us. It’s gotta be. We have to keep moving.”
As she heard him, her face changed. It relaxed, smoothing back to almost blankness again; the only sign that anything was wrong was her lips pressed tightly together. She held out her hand for her bag, and Jawad passed it to her. She stood, looked him in the eye, and nodded.

And so they were off again, staggering into a run back down the side of the ridge, and racing towards the ravine and the strip of land between the mountains, with the girl following on his heels. The desert here was less loose sand and more solid rock underfoot, one of the first bits of luck in days. It mostly sloped downhill, too. His rucksack knocked and bashed against his back as he ran, gasping for breath. The ground they were running on grew steeper on one side, bringing them first closer to the ravine, then away from it again. His heart was knocking a bruise against his chest and his legs felt like they were being worn down to the bone, but he kept running.

They veered close to the canyon again, the terrain becoming increasingly steep and rocky and difficult to run on. He spotted a path cutting its way along the edge of the ravine. He blinked, as he suddenly realised. The path wasn’t earthen, it was paved. And it was wide enough for vehicles to move along it. It was a road.
“It’s gotta be the way to the city,” he called out to the girl. “Gotta be.”
As if in answer, in the distance, there was the cough of engines. Faint, but getting closer by the minute. He didn’t say another word, flying up the track faster than ever. They bounded along as it bent and twisted, the girl ahead of him now, running with renewed desperation. Until he crashed into her, nearly sending them both hurtling off of the trail.
“What the hell are you doing?” he shouted, grabbing her shoulders to stop her from falling off of the cliff. And then he saw what she had. A bridge, just ahead of them, hanging over the chasm. The road stopped on their side at the bridge and became rock and sand beyond. There was nowhere to go but the bridge.

The first inklings of an idea began to form.

The engines were louder now. He looked back, and could see individual vehicles, silhouetted in the desert sun, following, getting inevitably closer.
“Come on!” he yelled, dashing past her, making for the bridge as quickly as he could. They pounded the clifftop pass, kicking up dust of their own. As they reached the connection, it became clear that it was far more than just a footbridge, three metres across at least. It was wooden, but stout, with scaffolding and support cables holding it up.

Jawad tested it with his foot. It didn’t even bounce. More than enough for him and the girl.

More than enough for whoever was following them too, probably. Whoever built it, built it to last.

He looked back down the path they’d just fled. More dust, the engines growing louder, and he could have sworn he heard men shouting to each other.

But he did see what he wanted to see: that this bridge was the only crossing for at least miles in either direction. Maybe another piece of luck had fallen their way.

“Let’s go,” he said. They darted across, the bridge so solid that they might as well have still been on the road. As they reached the other side, the girl stopped and turned to him, no doubt guessing his thoughts. He rummaged around in his backpack and pulled out a penknife. Walking over to the suspension cords, he chose the likeliest-looking rope and started sawing. The knife scraped back and forth over the wires.

Back and forth, back and forth.

The engines got louder, echoing down the canyon.

Back and forth, back and forth. Back and forth, back and forth.

And there was absolutely no difference. He looked closer at the cord. It was made of twisted steel threads. There was no way he would be able to cut them with a pocket knife. He swore.

The group was approaching, slowly, inexorably closer. A few minutes at best.

He sawed as hard and fast as he could, sweat streaming down his face and dripping onto the knife, new aches forming in his muscles alongside the old ones. He sawed harder and harder.
“Come on,” he growled through gritted teeth.
He lifted the knife. One strand of wire had been snapped. One tiny strand of wire on one thin cord on one massive bridge.
“Damn it,” he hissed.
He kept sawing more and more and more. Sweat ran into his eyes, making them sting and half blinding him. More. More.

The knife snagged and he slammed his hand into the post. The numb muscles jumped, dropping the blade on the ground.
“Goddamn it!” he screamed, staring into the heavens. “Goddamn it all to hell!”
That was it. It was over. That was their only chance gone. They couldn’t outrun cars and trucks and motorised vehicles. They couldn’t bring down a bridge. Aya and Halim were dead and they would be too and the world would be over. It would all be over.

Rage swelled inside of him, like a burning brand. The injustice, and the lies, and the confusion, and the unfairness of the whole situation. He looked around, and his eyes locked onto the girl, causing her to take a step back from the intensity of it alone.
“You.” he spat, feeling like a wave was cresting inside of him, threatening to overwhelm him entirely. “This is all your fault. If you hadn’t shown up, I’d have been long gone by now. They never would have found me. I might be home by now tending the farm and living in my own bloody house and sleeping in my own bloody bed.”
Far from raising his voice, it was now low and full of venom.
“But, oh no. Oh no,” he snapped. “You turn up. You turn up and don’t say a single bloody word. I never asked you to come with me! I never said to bloody follow me and now you see what you’ve done? We’re going to die out here, and it’s ALL. YOUR. FAULT!”
Something snapped inside as he roared the last few words. He didn’t even realise that he was walking towards her until he saw her stepping backwards. But she just looked at him. And she didn’t say a word.

The wave broke. All the energy drained from inside him. He sat down heavily. The vehicles could be seen clearly on the other side of the ravine: army trucks and jeeps and another of those armoured trucks, similar to the one he’d seen earlier in the desert. They bore an emblem he didn’t recognise. He tried deciphering the words, but it was too far, and there was no point.
“We might as well run,” he muttered. “We might as well try.”
But he didn’t have the energy to move a muscle.

And suddenly, the girl’s face changed. Her eyes widened, and she rummaged around in her pocket, pulling out the lighter she’d used to make the fire earlier. Placing it on the bridge she raised her foot above it, and stamped down heavily, cracking the plastic. Lighter fluid dribbled out, pooling on the wooden boards. She shook it, coaxing out the last drops. She glanced around, looking for something, then picked up a thorny brown twig. The needles pricked into her skin, but she sparked the end of the ruined lighter, creating a flash of light. Nothing. Again. Nothing.

The vehicles were coming up to the bridge now, coming and coming and coming–

The twig caught, but went out. She blew on it slightly and it flared up again. And then she tossed it. Right onto the fluid.

There was a whoosh, followed by a sudden roar as the liquid caught light. The flames were a strange shade of emerald, and the sudden heat was incredible, almost blistering. The girl staggered back from the sudden explosion, tripped and fell. For a moment, the conflagration died down, burning through the fuel. But then, just as he feared that it hadn’t been enough, that they would be captured after all, it erupted higher and fiercer than before as the old, dry wood, baked for years in the desert sun, caught alight. The entire side of the bridge fell right away, collapsing into the canyon and taking the front truck with it. The bridge on the other end was still attached to the cliffside, but the flames were so intense that it wouldn’t be long before the whole thing burnt to ash.

And then, from the centre of the fire, a dark shape emerged. The flames bulged and swelled around it, as if curving to avoid it… him. They parted, revealing a figure. His military uniform was crisp and clean and immaculate despite the smoke and fire swirling around him, and his expression was perfectly calm. He smiled and gave a mocking salute, before turning away, disappearing back into the sheet of smoke. Jawad coughed and spat blood.
“We have to keep moving,” he said, wheezing. “Maybe there’s no other way across, but we shouldn’t wait to find out.” He turned to the girl. Shame suddenly gripped him, remembering the things he had said. It was far worse that, in that moment, he had meant them, believed them. He offered his hand.
“Come on, we can at least get away from the smoke.”
She looked up at him.
He looked back. His face burned, and not from the fire.
“I’m sorry.”
He glanced away from her face, as blank and quiet as ever, and turned back up the path.
“Onyx,” a voice called out.
He spun around and stared at the girl.
“What?”
She looked back at him. And she opened her mouth. She was talking to him.
“My name,” she said. “It’s Onyx.”

Inferneum, Hellslayer - 19:30, 3 March 2024

Reina checked herself in the mirror one last time before heading out. Her hair was done up neatly, pearls were draped around her neck, and her red satin dress clung to her curves. Her lipstick and makeup was applied with care. Nodding, she poked her head into the bedroom to say goodbye. Her husband was lying on the bed, reading a magazine. The machines beeped and the intravenous drip poured some chemical or another into his bloodstream.
“I’m just heading out now. I’ll see you later.”
He slowly turned his head to get a better look at her, as if every movement ached. He squinted, taking his time before finally answering.
“You look nice. You don’t usually dress up anymore. Where are you off to?”
Reina smoothed her dress and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
“Marissa is hosting evening tea for our reading group.”
He nodded, his mouth contorting into a vague smile.
“You have fun then,” he said, turning back to his paper.

Half an hour later, Reina stepped out of the taxi, handed the driver a fistful of notes, and climbed the steps up to the front door of The Scarlet Lounge. Slipping inside, the familiar loud atmosphere greeted her - the music, the cheers, the dancing, and the sharp smell of alcohol. She made her way over to the bar, raising her voice over the noise.
“Is he here yet?”
The bartender nodded towards a private booth. It wasn’t really separate from the rest of the club, really just a plywood box, like a work cubicle, but it at least had a curtain that could be drawn across to provide a little privacy. She thanked him and walked over, disappearing behind the veil. On the other side was a younger demon, dressed smartly in a suit. As she pulled back the screen, he grinned.
“Missed me?”
She sat down next to him.
“Oh, sure. Like a hangover after too much whiskey. It never stopped me downing a bottle before.”
He chuckled slightly, then leaned in and kissed her softly. It was a few moments before they spoke again.
“So,” he said. “What’s the excuse tonight? Another dinner with your boss?”
She shook her head.
“No, I think he was starting to catch on. Besides, Sturm’s not even in the country. Diplomatic trip. That was the only reason I could get the evening off. And he reads the news, so there’s no way he’d miss that. Actually, I’m at a tea party right now.”
Her partner snickered, then poked his head out of the curtains to ask the waitress for a bottle of bourbon whiskey.
“Wow,” he snorted, turning back to her. “I never knew you were so cultured.”
She opened her mouth in mock offence, as if deeply hurt.
“I’m sorry, I really am in a reading club, you know. And anyway, what’s your excuse? Need to go shoe shopping again? How many pairs is that now?”
He roared with laughter. They paused briefly as their drinks arrived, and they each took a swig straight from the bottle.
“Actually, I’m here on a business trip. I’m securing a profitable deal with a client.”
Reina smiled.
“Very profitable,” she said. “For the business of the heart.”
A different look came over his face.
“There’s another business that I hope to score on too,” he said, smirking suggestively.
She took slightly too big a gulp of whiskey, and had to stop, coughing and spluttering.
“You’re always so eloquent,” she said, once she’d got her breath back. Looking at him earnestly, she continued. “What’s the endgame here? Can we really keep this going forever?”
He gazed at her for a while before he spoke, for once completely serious.
“Who says there has to be an ‘endgame’? Maybe we just follow our hearts. Do what we want to do.”
She shook her head.
“But what does this all mean to you? We’re playing with fire. What if we’re discovered?”
He paused, thinking for a moment.
“If we’re playing with fire, then there’ll be smoke to hide us as we make our escape.”
He grinned, pleased with his wordplay.
“Poof!” he said, gesturing with his hands.
Reina raised an eyebrow.
“Poof? You’re so romantic.”
He handed her the whiskey bottle.
“Only with you.”

East Qurar, near Sel-Talud - 12:00, 3 March 2024

He didn’t say anything for a full minute. Nor did she. The fire crackled, the smoke drifting into the sky. Finally he spoke.
“Onyx.”
She nodded.
“I’m Jawad,”
“I know,” she replied.
She didn’t quite meet his eye.
“So you can talk then?” Jawad asked, slightly bitterly, but all she did was glance at him, and then look away again quickly. He watched the remnants of the bridge burn, watched the smoke forming a screen between them and the other side of the canyon. He wasn’t sure if he felt safer or not now that he could no longer see their pursuers.
“That was–”
The girl - Onyx - got to her feet and picked up her bag.
“We should get moving,” she said. “Away from here.”
Her accent was strange, different from anyone he had heard before. Her lips formed the syllables and pushed them out harshly. He suddenly had a million questions to ask her now that he knew she could understand, that she could respond. Who was she? Where did she come from? What happened? There was so much fighting to get out of his mouth that he was temporarily speechless, left standing with his mouth hanging open. She scraped her foot on the ground, then walked past him, continuing on up the trail.
“Hey,” Jawad called out.
She stopped and turned back to look at him.
“Wait for me,” he said, grabbing his rucksack and hooking it over his shoulders before following the girl up the trail.

On this side of the canyon, the path turned away from the cliffside, heading out of the desert and into a slightly more lively landscape of scrub and brush. It curved around and away from the larger mountain, which loomed overhead in the west. As the trail bent around the corner, they both paused and looked back. The bridge was still blazing, clinging to the opposite cliffside like a waterfall of flames. The smoke was so thick that it was impossible to tell what the vehicles, what the figure, had done, if they were gone or waiting. As they watched, the fire ate through the stakes holding it together, and with a great snap, the burning bridge fell, clattering against the cliffside, streaming smoke behind it.
“What now?” Jawad asked foolishly.
The girl looked at him, opened her mouth, but then closed it again, turning away.
“It’s okay,” he called after her. “I ain’t going to hurt you.”
She just stared at him, reminding him of just a few minutes ago, when he was about to hurt her. This time, it was he who looked away, ashamed. They didn’t say anything else.

The path was still pretty wide, wide enough for cars, but the terrain was getting rockier, the route more twisted. It started to feel almost walled in, with the rockface rising on both sides. Little prickly plants poked out of every crevice, and little yellow lizards skittered along, hissing as they passed. After walking for a little while, they took a seat and shared a little jerked meat and dried fruit.
“The truck crashed,” she began quietly, looking away. Then she cleared her throat and started again. “I don’t know where they were taking me. Then they crashed. I was thrown around in the back, rolling over and over. Maybe they hit a rock or something. And then…”
She stopped, spreading her hands.
“But who were they?”
She paused, thinking about the answer, then answered.
“Demons.”
Jawad laughed, but his smile quickly melted as the girl showed no signs of laughing along with him.
“You’re joking, right? Demons? Like in Axonity? But they’re not real, they’re stories, to scare children.”
She simply stared at him.
“Demons,” she repeated. She pulled her knees up to her chest and hugged them. Fearing that she would start rocking again, Jawad quickly filled the silence.
“They’re trapped. We escaped them. We just need to follow the road to the city. It can’t be far now.”
“You must warn them,” she mumbled into her knees.
He looked up sharply, glaring at her.
“What?”
“Earlier, when you were trying to read that book–”
“I wasn’t trying,” Jawad cut in, his voice rising.
She looked at him. He couldn’t tell if she was mocking him.
“It looked like you were–”
His face darkened.
“I know how to read.”
She held up her hands, as if placating a wild animal.
“Okay.”
“I do!”
“I’m just saying–”
“Well then stop just saying,” he spat angrily. “We should get moving.”
The girl didn’t move.
“Warn who?” she asked. “And about what?”
Jawad paused, unsure of how to respond.

And then a loud click cut through the conversation, surprisingly loud. A familiar sound. Jawad slowly turned. Standing on the rocks above them, hidden in shadow, someone was pointing a cocked rifle right at his head.
“And what ah want to know,” it said in a thickly accented voice, “is who the hell is burnin’ down mah bridge?”
Jawad froze and looked over at the girl. Her eyes were wide.
“I do believe I asked yer something,” called out the voice, “and ah’m waitin’ on mah answer.”
He said nothing. Neither did the girl. The figure waved the gun.
“Do ye think this is a ruddy walking stick that ah’m holdin’? Ah’m asking what gives ye permission to go a-burnin’ other people’s bridges down.”
Jawad spoke up, if only to fill the silence.
“We were being chased.”
“Chased, were ye?” asked the gunman sarcastically. “And who were a-chasin’ ye?”
Jawad froze. What could he say? Demons? He’d sound insane. And whose side were they on, anyway? Perhaps they were a bounty hunter.

It was then that the girl spoke up. Onyx spoke up.
“He saved my life.”
“Did he now?” The figure sounded amused. “Well, I see you have somethin’ of a story to tell.”
“I’d be happy to tell you about it, if you’d kindly stop pointing the gun at us,” Onyx said. Jawad was so surprised that he turned to her with his mouth hanging open. The figure actually laughed out loud this time. They stepped into the light. They were an older woman, dressed in dusty old leather, worn and creased from years of use. A wide-brimmed hat shaded her face from the harsh sun. She looked little more than a farmer. Breaking the rifle open and hanging it over her arm, she cautiously picked her way down the rocks, closer to where they were standing. She squinted at them.
“Ah can’t rightly say that ah’m not pissed. Ye did light that bridge o’ mine up. Saw the smoke all the way back at the farm, for sure.” She started back up the rocks, using the rifle as a crutch. Perhaps it was her idea of a joke? They watched her until she reached the top and turned to look down on them again.
“Ye comin’?” She asked, as if they were keeping her waiting.
Jawad and Onyx exchanged glances.
“We’re meant to be heading for the city,” Onyx said, looking at him again.
“Oh, ye’ll get there soon enough,” the woman said, smiling. “But what ye really need first is a good feedin’ up and sleepin’.”
They still didn’t move.
The old woman sighed and rolled her eyes.
“Look at it like this. Ah got me a gun,” she said, waving it. “But ah’m askin’ ye to come with me.”

Onyx leaned over to Jawad.
“Why don’t we go with her?” she whispered. “Just to see.”
Jawad raised his eyebrows in surprise.
“What?”
“I could use a bath,” she said. “And some good food. And a good night’s sleep.”
He gritted his teeth.
“So could I. I’m tired and hungry and hurting, but we can’t just go off with the first person we meet. We don’t know anything about her. And there are people coming after us who probably won’t let one burnt bridge stop them.”
Onyx glanced up at the woman.
“I think she seems okay,” she said. “A little crazy perhaps, but not dangerous crazy.”
Jawad looked at her in bewilderment.
“She pointed a gun at us! What part of that is not dangerous?”
Onyx set her jaw, frowning.
“Hold on,” she called out to the woman, shaking her head in annoyance. “Let me just get my stuff.”
She started pulling her bag over her shoulder.
“We can’t go, Onyx,” Jawad said, low, agitated. “We have to get to the city. You said it just now, I need to warn them.”
She turned to him. There was a hint of acid in her voice.
“No, you mean you need to get to the city. I’m going with her.”
He studied her for a while. His face heated slightly, but he ignored it.
“So, what? That’s it? You’re just going to leave?”
She inspected the ground, not meeting his eyes. Then she turned and started climbing the rocks to where the old woman was standing. She reached her, and they disappeared over the edge, out of sight.
Jawad paced back and forth for a moment, seething, before he climbed up after them.

As he pulled himself over the edge, he could see the two of them walking ahead, side by side. He watched them resentfully before following, keeping his distance. There was a much narrower path here, beaten earth instead of paved, leading through rocks and scrub. Jawad constantly glanced over his shoulder, half expecting to see the uniformed figure and the trucks following. Onyx and the woman were talking, but he couldn’t hear what they were saying beyond a few murmurings of words here and there.

With the sun getting low, painting the sky a shade of dark copper, he finally spotted a house in the distance. Standing by the fence was an old man, waiting patiently. As soon as he saw the woman, he rushed out to greet her.
“Fatima!”
He kissed her in greeting, then turned to be introduced to Onyx, who stepped back a little at his enthusiastic welcome.
“Hey, young lad,” the old woman - Fatima - called out to him. “Ye gonna stand out here all day or ye gonna join us for supper?”
He walked forward slowly, unsure. The man stepped past Fatima and Onyx, his hand outstretched. Jawad was so stunned that he shook it without thinking.
“Naseer’s the name,” he exclaimed in a booming voice. “And who might ye be?”
“Jawad,” he managed, as the man threw an arm around his shoulder and practically dragged him up the path to where Fatima and Onyx were waiting, chatting non-stop all the way.
“We haven’t had visitors in oh, many moons, so ye’ll please excuse the state of our shack. Not many come this way over the desert no more, but yer welcome. Yer sure welcome!”

Soon enough they were all seated around a table. Fatima and Naseer were doing all the talking - Jawad and Onyx were too busy shovelling food into their mouths to speak.
“So what were ye a-runnin’ from then, Jawad?” Fatima asked, passing him the dish of potatoes.
He had to chew for a few moments before swallowing heavily.
“They had guns… Onyx called them ‘demons’.”
Fatima and Naseer exchanged glances.
“How many did ye say there was?” asked Naseer, leaning forward.
“I… I don’t know,” Jawad said, perturbed by his intensity. “A few hundred?”
Onyx took a deep breath and looked up.
“No. It’s an army. There’s thousands and thousands swarming over the border. They’re from Halu– Hellslayer. But they’re not normal. Whatever happened all those years ago… they’ve changed somehow. They’re not human.”
She turned to Jawad, and he was surprised to see her eyes glinting wetly and she was already rocking back and forth slightly.
“They’re not human,” she repeated. “When I called them ‘demons’, I meant it in every sense. The things they did… th- they…”
She stopped, shaking her head and covering her face, unable to go on.
“What?” Jawad said, thoughtlessly. “What’s wrong?”
Onyx just shook her head.
“Ah think we maybe talked about the army enough for now,” Fatima said softly. “Ah think it’s time for yer both to catch some rest.”
Jawad frowned, peering out of the window. The sun had barely set.
“It ain’t even late yet,” he said, his tone a little whiny. “We need to be getting on to the city."
Naseer put a placating hand on his shoulder
“We’ll take yer down to the town tomorrow. Sel-Talud. It ain’t so far from there to the city. Yer can probably get a lift. But yer’ll go all the faster for a little sleep. Yer delayed ‘em at the bridge. It buys yer a little time. Trust me.”

With the lights turned out, Jawad pulled off his shoes and wrapped himself in blankets on one of the couches. Onyx did the same. A fire crackled in the hearth despite the heat outside. It wasn’t much later than dusk, but the softness of cushions and blankets after intense days of little rest quickly made Jawad’s eyelids heavy.
“Jawad?” Onyx whispered from her settee on the other side of the room.
He swum up from sinking into sleep.
“What?”
She didn’t say anything for a second.
“What does your book say you’re meant to do when you get to the city?”
Jawad was grateful for the darkness that hid his face reddening.
“Never you mind my book,” he hissed, harsher than he intended. “That’s for my eyes.”
Onyx ignored him.
“You remember when you showed me the map back in the desert? You remember what it said?”
He didn’t say anything. There was no jab in her voice, but there was no other reason she would pick at the open wound.
“Just go to sleep. Please,” he said.
“There’s no shame in not being able–”
He sighed loudly, too tired to argue.
“Shut up.”
Onyx tried again.
“I could help you–”
Jawad got up suddenly, snatched his blankets up and marched off, slamming the door behind him. Finding a patch of floor, he threw them down, curling up, away from everything. He closed his eyes, but sleep refused to come for hours, his blood still simmering. Finally, he was overcome and darkness came over him.

Inferneum, Hellslayer - 18:00, 5 March 2024

There was a knock on the door. Reina hurriedly made herself presentable and went downstairs to answer it. Opening the front door a crack, she saw a middle-aged man, with white hair and a closely trimmed beard, dressed in an expensive suit, standing on her doorstep. She frowned.
“Yes? What is it?”
“Mrs. Varus?” the man inquired politely. “I am Valentin Murmanov.”
He held out his hand. She didn’t shake it.
“What’s this all about?”
Valentin smiled cordially.
“I called you several times, but I’m afraid that I was unable to get through. I thought it best to pay you a visit. But please, I’d rather not stand out here in the cold. There’s a bar nearby. I can explain everything more easily there.”
Reina paused, unsure. Valentin continued to smile warmly, and she relaxed. Finally, she made up her mind.
“Wait there. Let me get ready.”
She threw on some clothes, pulled on her jacket, and laced up her boots. She followed Valentin outside, where he opened the door to an expensive vintage car, with a mahogany finish on the interior and leather upholstery. He gestured for her to get in.
“I.. That’s very considerate, but I’m married,” she said weakly.
Valentin laughed genially, and after a moment she joined in.
“Of course. No, this is actually a business meeting. I thought you might be able to help me.”
Reina relaxed.
“You know, if it’s about work, you should contact me at work to book appointments with the Grand Architect. I can’t help you off-the-book, unfortunately.”
Nevertheless, she climbed into the car in spite of herself. Valentin didn’t seem put off by her words.
“Now, let’s just wait until we get to the bar. I’m not after an appointment with the… Grand Architect. That’s why I came directly to you. You’ll understand when we’re there.”
She thought she heard a tinge of bitterness in his voice when talking about Sturm, but it was so subtle, and his expression so kind that she decided that she must have been mistaken.

The car steered through the thick Inferneum traffic. They had dodged the worst of the rush-hour traffic, but the roads were still packed. Valentin weaved in and out, turning down a few side alleys onto quieter streets.
“There’s a pub just over there,” Reina pointed out, tapping Valentin’s shoulder.
“I know,” he said, without looking. “That’s not the one I want to go to.”
Reina sat back in her seat. She was starting to feel slightly uncomfortable. He took a few more turns, and the area started to seem familiar. That office block over there, and those shops… And there, ahead of them was The Crimson Lounge. Was it a coincidence? Did he know? Her heart fluttered, and she had to force herself not to tremble. As they pulled in, Valentin turned to her.
“Come along. That’s the place.”
He still had a slight smile painted on his face. Was he mocking her? Or did he really not know?
“Y-yes. I’m just coming.”
She took a deep breath and tried to compose herself. There was no way he could know. Who was he anyway? He wasn’t a demon. He looked vaguely Noskyavian. Perhaps he really did want to just talk to her. A drink couldn’t hurt, at any rate. She followed him inside.

Once inside, Valentin approached the bartender and slipped him a few Sols.
“A private booth, please,” he asked politely. “So that we can talk without being disturbed,” he added to Reina.
The bartender raised his eyebrow when he saw her, but said nothing and nodded to a free booth. Valentin stepped inside and pulled the curtain across, cutting them off. Reina was shivering involuntarily, completely thrown by the location.
“W-what is it, then? How can I help you?”
Valentin sat down opposite her and smiled, leaning back in his seat.
“I hear your husband is ill, is that right? You’re certainly a very dedicated wife to look after him at home. I’m sure it must be very difficult. A lot of people wouldn’t be able to handle the responsibility of having to care for someone else as well as work in such a tough job. You have my sympathy.”
Reina was breathing fast. What was he saying? What the hell was going on?
“Y-yes. My husband has cancer. I-it’s rather horrible; as a demon, it won’t kill him, you see? His body constantly heals, and the cancer constantly grows. It’s a stalemate. S-sometimes I hear him gasp in pain in the night.”
Valentin nodded sympathetically as she spoke.
“I imagine that’s very difficult for both of you. But you must be the light in his life. The care and affection you give him… I imagine that’s why he holds on. Why else would he go on in a life filled with eternal pain? You’re his lifeline.”
Reina gulped. She looked deep into his eyes, trying to gauge what his intentions were, what he was really getting at. And she saw nothing. It was like gazing into the abyss. Valentin smiled, but his light-blue eyes remained frozen pools. He continued.
“Of course, you’ve had to make so many sacrifices for him. It must be difficult for you, with him hooked up to all those machines, to feel his love and affection. The physical attractions… well, of course, you must miss them.”

Valentin paused as a waiter poked their head inside. He turned to Reina.
“Do you want anything?”
She didn’t answer, staring straight ahead, shell-shocked. Valentin turned back to the waiter.
“We’ll have a bottle of bourbon whiskey.”
Another hammer blow. Reina felt as if she had just been bludgeoned in a bare-knuckled boxing match.
Valentin reached inside his blazer and pulled out a small stack of photographs.
“Now, enough pleasantries,” he said sternly, mockingly. “This was the business I wanted to ask you about. You met up with this fellow a couple of nights ago. What was that all about?”
Reina was drowning, gasping for air. She clutched at straws.
“It was a business meeting. I was… I was… carrying a message to Grand Architect Sturm. He was a potential contractor.”
Valentin sighed regrettably.
“Oh, really? I mentioned I’d tried to call you. I couldn’t get through to you, but fortunately I was able to speak to your husband. Only, he strangely seemed to think that you had gone to a reading club. How do you explain that?”
It was too much. Reina snapped, slamming her palm down on the table. Whiskey splashed out of her shot glass, dripping over her hand.
“Okay, okay. I did it. You already know that. What the bloody hell do you want?”
Valentin continued the charade, acting confused, as if he had no idea what she meant.
“Did what? I’m just trying to understand the situation here. What did you do?”
His eyes pierced right to her core, like a harpoon, reeling in and tearing the confession out of her.
“I cheated,” she whispered, hating herself. “I loved another demon. Made love to another demon.”

“Well, well,” Valentin said. “Shocking.”
His voice was suddenly a glacier, icy smooth.
“I swear, I swear I’ll never do it again. It was a mistake, I know, but it was so hard… so hard.”
Liquid was leaking from Reina’s eyes but she couldn’t help it. She wiped the tears away on her sleeve. Valentin waved his hand dismissively, as if he didn’t have the slightest interest.
“I don’t care what you do or who you love. Don’t flatter yourself, you’re just a pawn in a greater game.”
“What do you want?” she said, trying to spit it in defiance but it came out as a hopeless whimper.
“Simple. I want full access to Sturm’s itinerary, meetings, conversations, whatever you hear comes to me. And, of course, a key to his office.”
Reina’s face fell.
“W-what if I refuse?”
Valentin looked at her, his eyes darkening, as if ink was leaking into the iris.
“That would be unwise. Remember, your husband lives for you. If he finds out that you love someone else…”
He let the threat hang. Reina hiccoughed slightly.
“I… I don’t have a… a key… for the office.”
Valentin got up to leave, dropping a few coins onto the table. Before exiting the cubicle, he turned back, his eyes burning ice.
“Then get one.”