A Red Sun Also Rises by Mark Hodder
Gallokomas wasn’t gone for long, and when he returned he was carrying a large bunch of black banana-shaped fruits.
“Much of what I found on trees and bushes was poisonous,” he said, “but these will not harm us. Eat, Thing.”
We filled ourselves with the bland-tasting stuff, then the Zull hooked a pair of hands beneath my arms and lifted me into the air. Propelling himself forward by means of a rippling fringe that ran along the top and sides of his buoyancy sac, he transported me to the river in the bottom of the valley and there settled that we might drink from the clear, fresh water.
I washed my wounds and began to feel some strength returning to me.
We didn’t linger for long, and for that I was glad. The sooner I was reunited with Clarissa, the better.
Gallokomas picked me up, shot with breathtaking speed up to such an altitude that the entire forest became visible, like a dark wedge in the landscape beneath us, then we sped southward.
We flew at a tremendous velocity. My hair streamed backward, the air forcing tears from my eyes, and we had to yell to converse. To our left, the red sun glowered. To our right, the serrated peaks of the mountain range piled upward, and between them the sea shone unpleasantly like freshly spilled blood.
“Phenadoor,” Gallokomas shouted. “Perhaps I will return there once I have atoned for my sins.”
“What is it like to live in Phenadoor, Gallokomas?”
“I have no memory of it, but I feel I was rewarded there for my every action, so that existence was fulfilling and I wanted for nothing.”
“Many of the Yatsill enter it to die, believing they’ll be reborn into a better life.”
“What are Yatsill, Thing?”
“They are sentient creatures, like yourself. Did you not encounter them in Phenadoor?”
“Perhaps, but if I did, I have forgotten it.”
We flew on and on. A hot wind gusted from the East. The land slipped by far below us. Finally, the mountain range began to lose its height.
I pointed ahead to where the side of a slope was scarred with quarries. “New Yatsillat is near.”
Gallokomas altered his course slightly. We gradually lost altitude and I saw the strip of jungle and the Yatsill farms laid out beyond it. Further ahead, where before I had seen columns of smoke and steam rising, there was nothing. The factories were obviously idle.
The Zull dropped closer to the ground, cleared the edge of the bay, and flew out over the city.
It wasn’t there any more.
I gave a cry of dismay.
New Yatsillat, which had risen at such a phenomenal speed, had fallen into the sea with equal precipitateness. The huge terraces had collapsed and massive trails of rubble streaked the muddy slopes. The fishing village was entirely buried. There was barely a single building standing. In the awful red light, the whole bay looked like a hideous open wound.
Campfires flickered at one side of what remained of the fifth level. I pointed at them and cried out, “Take me down there, Gallokomas!”
The Zull veered away. “I cannot. I will set you down at the top of the bay.”
“But I need to go to that fire. My companion may be there.”
“I must ask forgiveness, Thing, for I find that I possess an inexplicable aversion to the creatures you call Yatsill.”
“I assure you, they are harmless.”
“I am not afraid, but I cannot approach them.”
Though I was beside myself with frustration, when Gallokomas landed I turned to him and said, “You have greatly assisted me, my friend. I thank you.”
“I will circle above,” he replied. “When you have established that all is well, wave to me. I will see you. But if you require further assistance, return to this spot and I will come.”
“Are you not eager to join the rest of your kind?”
“Later. I cannot leave one who is in need.”
“I am humbled by your compassion.”
Much to his astonishment, I took one of his hands and gave it a hearty shake.
“What was that?” he asked.
“A bond of friendship.”
“I like it.”
I smiled, turned away, and set off down the cracked and crumpled remains of one of the large avenues. To either side of it, the destruction was tremendous. New Yatsillat had fallen as if built from sand. What remained of its buildings stood like the ragged stumps of broken teeth, their upper sections gone, the roofs that covered them disintegrated and swept away. I clambered over fractured girders and piled debris, broken glass and almost unrecognisable fragments of furniture and vehicles. Off to my left, three Ptall’kors were drifting, apparently without purpose. I saw the body of a Kaljoor, still harnessed to a hansom cab, crushed beneath the remains of a fallen tower. I stepped on a sandwich board that bore the legend The Petticoat Parlour, First for Female Attire! and felt a hollowing grief for a shattered dream. New Yatsillat might have become my home. Instead—this.
And Clarissa. Where was Clarissa?
With no little difficulty I descended to the fifth level and made my way toward the fires, where I found approximately two hundred individuals gathered. As I drew closer, I waved and shouted, “Hi, there!”
Human and Yatsill faces turned and someone waved back and called my name.
“Kata!” I exclaimed. “Is that you?”
“Yes, Mr. Fleischer,” my housekeeper replied as I joined the group. “I still have not been released. I think I shall never see Koluwai.”
“You certainly won’t if you’re devoured by a Blood God. Where is Miss Stark?”
A Yatsill—one of the Aristocracy—stepped forward and said, “I’m afraid she has been taken, Mr. Fleischer.”
I recognised the voice. “Baron Thewflex! You don’t mean—you don’t—she wasn’t—?”
“Possessed? No. I apologise. That was a poor choice of words. Indeed, it was! I mean to say she was carried into Phenadoor by a Blood God.”
“Carried into the sea?”
“Yes.”
I sat down heavily, my jaw slack, my brain unable to cope with this news.
“The Magicians couldn’t protect us,” Thewflex said. “The Blood Gods have taken all the Aristocrats but those you see here.” He flicked his fingers toward the other Yatsill, then pointed at the seashore and continued, “And the Working Class are now lazing about down there. They are little better than animals. Indeed! Indeed! There aren’t enough of us remaining to share intelligence with them.” He sighed and shook his head.
“Then she is drowned,” I whispered, and my vision narrowed to a pinprick.
“The rest of us might still be taken at any time,” Thewflex said. “Though we’ve all had Miss Stark’s medicine and the pace of the invasion appears to have slowed. In any case, we shall have to wait until the Saviour looks upon us again and the new children mature before we can rebuild the city—yes, indeed!—and, of course, only then if plenty of the young are made Aristocrats at Immersion.”
I couldn’t engage with his words. They flowed past me without meaning. Nothing mattered any more. Clarissa was gone.
Picking a burning brand from the fire, I turned away and left the group, unable even to bid them farewell. I walked back through the debris to the avenue and there, bracing myself against the remains of a wall, bent over and pulled desperately at the air, feeling that I might pass out from lack of oxygen. My legs could hardly hold me. The ruins slewed past vertiginously. My ears were assaulted by an animalistic whine, which, in a moment of horror, I realised was coming from my own mouth.
“Please,” I croaked. “Please, no.”
Maybe I stood there for hours, maybe for mere minutes. I have no conception of how much time passed before I pushed myself upright and stumbled on, descending the steep slope all the way to the lowest level. Then it must have taken me at least two hours to climb across the rubble to Pretty Wahine’s cave. Certainly, I remember replacing the brand on at least three occasions, putting its flame to other pieces
I stepped into the cave’s entrance and followed the tunnel—the way illuminated by my fire—to the chamber at its end. Pretty Wahine lay within, dead, her glazed yellow eyes staring at the ceiling. I bent over her and saw that her skin was dotted with sucker marks. Obviously, a Blood God had found her. Perhaps her powers had failed as her great age finally took its toll. She was unable to hide Clarissa or even her own refuge any longer.
Poor woman. She had asked for none of this. A simple islander, and little more than a child when she’d been transported to Ptallaya—fear, and perhaps a degree of madness, had made of her a hermit. And a god!
Leaving the Saviour’s final resting place, I retraced my steps and made the long climb back to the top of the bay.
Eventually, I reached the place where I’d parted from Gallokomas. The Zull floated down from the sky and stood before me.
“She’s gone,” I said. “The Blood Gods took her to Phenadoor, where she surely drowned.”
“Why?”
“I cannot guess. The creatures are a mystery to me.”
“No, Thing. I mean, why would she drown?”
“My species cannot survive in the sea, Gallokomas.”
“Nor can mine. But Phenadoor is not the sea.”
“What?”
“Phenadoor is not the sea.”
I frowned, feeling confused. “Then what is it?”
“It is a great mountain beyond the horizon that rises from the waters and touches the sky.”
“A—a mountain?”
“Yes. I do not know where my knowledge comes from. Perhaps I have remnant memories.”
“But Phenadoor is land? An island?”
“I am certain.”
“Then Clarissa could still be alive!”
“That is true. What are these Blood Gods?”
I gestured toward the red sun. “They come when the Heart of Blood rises. They invade the bodies of the Yatsill and attack Phenadoor.”
The Zull shook its head. “No. It is a place of peace.”
“Whatever it is, Gallokomas, if the Blood Gods have Clarissa with them, and if they go to Phenadoor, whether to attack it or not, then I have to go there, too. Will you take me?”
“I cannot approach Phenadoor any more than I can approach the Yatsill. It is forbidden.”
“Can you get me close?”
“I would have to drop you into the sea.”
“Within sight of it?”
“Yes, I could do that.”
“Then I’ll swim the rest of the way.”
Gallokomas looked to the East, where the gigantic sun blazed, and said, “My kind await.” He turned back to me and his complex multi-jointed jaw flexed slowly. His expressionless eyes shone with an internal light, silvery and penetrating. The membrane on his back began to reinflate. “I feel the strength of your need,” he said, “and so cannot refuse. But once I deposit you in the water, I will have to leave you to fend for yourself. It will be too difficult for me to remain so close to Phenadoor. It pushes me away. Like all the Zull, I am forsaken.”
“If all the Zull are as generous as you, my friend, then you should not regret your current status, for you are to be admired and cherished.”
He rose a couple of feet into the air, flitted around me until he was at my back, then took hold of me as before and shot upward. We swooped over the bay and headed out to sea.
Once we’d travelled beyond sight of land, I lost all sense of time and distance. Ptallaya was reduced to three elements: a bright red sky overhead, a dark red sea below, and a blood-red orb above and to the rear of us. None of the moons was visible.
I was still weak from my wounds, and even in the best of health had never been a strong swimmer, but if there was any possibility that Clarissa still lived, then I had no option. I had to find her, even if it meant losing my own life in the attempt.
After an immeasurable period, Gallokomas shouted, “Look down to the left, Thing.”
I did so and saw, about a mile away, a ball of orange light slipping along underwater—the same phenomenon Clarissa and I had observed off the shore of New Yatsillat.
“Fly over it!” I yelled.
The Zull altered course and moments later we were above the illumination. I could now see that it shone from the centre of a long ovoid object travelling at great speed just beneath the surface. I felt certain it was some sort of machine.
“There’s another ahead of us,” Gallokomas observed.
We flew on, seeing more and more of the lights, and soon realised they were coming and going from a point directly ahead of us. Then a bright twinkling light, like a rising star, burst over the horizon.
“Phenadoor,” Gallokomas exclaimed. “I will take you as near to it as I dare, but already I feel it pushing me away.”
As we drew closer to the dazzling radiance and my eyes adjusted, it was revealed to be a vast cone-shaped mountain of pink crystal—probably white under the yellow suns—which reared up from the ocean and towered into the sky.
“I’m struggling,” my escort groaned. We began to lose altitude.
“What is it, Gallokomas? What prevents you from approaching? Is there a physical resistance?”
“No, Thing. I feel a sense of . . . of transgression in coming here. I will have to drop you very soon.”
“Please, get as close as you can manage. I can’t swim this distance.”
Plunging downward, the Zull sped along just a few feet above the surface of the water. At such proximity, our velocity felt tremendous, but still Phenadoor grew only slowly before us, gradually rising over the horizon and expanding until it appeared impossibly massive and completely blocked the western skyline from view.
Gallokomas reduced speed, came to a stop, and gasped, “It hurts! I cannot take you any farther!”
I tried to gauge the distance to the shore of the mountain. It was too far for me, I was positive, but I had no option other than to make the attempt.
“Drop me here, Gallokomas, and go to your people, taking with you my sincere gratitude and friendship.”
“I hope you find your companion, Thing. Phenadoor will offer you peace and fulfilment, but if you ever suffer the misfortune of being expelled from it, as I was, seek out the Zull. I will ensure that you are well received.”
I thanked him and, without further ceremony, he loosed his grip on me and I plunged into the ocean. The moment I splashed into the surprisingly warm water, the weight of my sword dragged me under. Fool that I was, I’d forgotten I was wearing it! Panicking, I wasted precious moments grappling with the leather harness to which the scabbard was attached, until, realising my idiocy, I gave up on the buckle, pulled the blade free, and discarded it. I kicked for the surface and reached it just as my lungs were about to burst.
I trod water for a few moments. Gallokomas was already a distant dot in the sky. I was alone.
After pulling away the harness and what remained of my shirt, I started to swim, adopting a slow and relaxed stroke I hoped I’d be able to maintain for some considerable distance. I very much doubted I’d reach the crystal mountain without having to rest but, fortunately, the sea was extremely salty, which made me buoyant, and a gentle current was assisting me. When I grew weary, I’d be able to float and recoup my strength while still drifting in the right direction.
No thoughts passed through my head during that long test of endurance. I concentrated only on my rhythmic respiration and the movement of my limbs.
If I reached my destination, what would I find there? The Yatsill had been unaware it was an island. To them, the whole sea was Phenadoor, a heavenly realm they aspired to. And for the Zull, it was a lost Paradise. But what of the Blood Gods? Were they really attacking it, or did Phenadoor extend to them the same state of beatitude the other races claimed?
I stopped. Perhaps an hour had passed and I was noticeably closer to the island, but something had just flashed beneath me. I trod water, turned, searching for the s
I opened my eyes and looked up into the appalling features of a Blood God.
“I am Koozan-Phay,” it said, speaking Koluwaian. “You are not damaged.”
I sat up. I was in a medium-sized chamber. Its walls were of metal upon which hung frames containing intricate shapes carved from crystal.
“Where am I?”
“In Underconveyance Two-Zero-Two.”
“And what is that?”
“A merchant vessel. It travels under the water. We were collecting food from the farms on the seabed when we detected you and took you from the surface. We are entering Phenadoor. Your injuries have been attended to. Are you hungry?”
“Yes.”
The creature shuffled to one of the frames and raised a tentacle, the end of which split into a myriad of thin fingerlike appendages. They brushed over a pattern of crystals.
“He is ready for sustenance.”
It turned back to me. “You are Aiden Fleischer. There is no other on Ptallaya with your exact physical structure and colouring. The Quintessence instructed us to keep watch for you.”
“What is the Quintessence?”
“It is the One whose design the Mi’aata follow.”
In response to my puzzled expression, the Blood God tapped itself with a tentacle. “We are the Mi’aata.”
Movement drew my attention to one of the walls. A floor-to-ceiling panel of a shimmering pearl-like substance had suddenly dissolved into the air. A Blood God—or Mi’aata—entered through the revealed doorway. It was carrying a platter of fruit and vegetables, which it handed to me.