Where The Black and Grey Wolves Kiss

1. The Flagpoles at Dawn“What do you think about the bowel movements of the black pelican?” said Stork to Sabienn. “What?” With the tether ropes in his hand, Sabienn stood on the bow of the boat, watching the dock as they prepared to push their way out into the Knife Reef Sea. He wiped his face on his cloak not realizing it had been augmented by a sizeable bird s**t. There was a feeling of disgust with the substance now clinging to his lips and teeth. He watched his friend Stork, sitting on the lid of the boat’s hold, viewing him blankly. Come on, thought Sabienn. Give me the put-down. But Stork was surprisingly compassionate in his response without any hint of sarcasm. “Don’t be a baby. Just eat it,” Stork said. “It’s not that bad.” Sabienn’s tongue ventured out to touch the bird’s off-load and found it a little nutty and a little fruity. It wasn’t something he would savour regularly but some went down his throat. Hello. That really isn’t that bad, thought Sabienn. I’ve probably just taken on a bacterial load to give me a vomiting death. But bird s**t’s got just as much right to end my life as anything else. “Wait!” called Bray. “Look.” Sabienn’s friend Bray’s laser-like eyes were scanning the Port Tyla docks and picked up a particular brown-robed and hooded figure moving toward them among the hopeless and ragged people lined for the boats. “It’s..” “I know,” Sabienn cut in. No names aloud. The sight of his friend Grey Cape stunned Sabienn. This must be important, thought Sabienn. He’s exposing himself. The eyes are everywhere. Grey Cape quickly sort Sabienn’s attention and beckoned him to come forward. Bray took the ropes as Sabienn jumped back to the worn boards of the dock. Swiftly Grey Cape held out a hand and passed a slip of paper across to Sabienn. “More information,” said Grey Cape. “Good luck.” As quickly as he’d arrived he was off back where he had come from. Sabienn dutifully concealed the paper within his cloak and jumped back to his boat. “I think he’s safe,” said Bray to Sabienn, watching the retreating figure of Grey Cape. “I haven’t seen any Secret Police for an hour. They must have pulled back.” The ropes were tossed and they were off, gliding past the docks. To the side, Sabienn looked out at the ragged masses lining up for their allotted boats. He could see the pointed ears of the Turr men doing deals on the boards, seeking passage for their wives and children. Desperate hands were passing money and passports across to dark-cloaked boatmen in uncaring commerce. The air was rank with all smells of the sea and dead fish and sweat-stained discards of the worried on edge. In the distance Sabienn heard the shouts. “No clothes, no baggage, no toys allowed.” There was no “sorry”. Sabienn felt some fruit that he’d stowed in his cloak pocket and walked the deck closer to his friend Bray who was solemnly watching the parade of Turr people. “Look at that,” said Bray. “Their humanity’s a commodity. As compliant as fruit and vegetables. With much less the value.” “Thanks,” said Sabienn. “You almost make me feel bad to ask.” He retrieved two apples from his cloak and offered fruit to Bray. “Like an apple?” Bray took the fruit and bit into it keeping his gaze on the activity on the docks. Seemingly affected by the drama on the docks, Bray commented, “Goodbye Hayddland.” He then pointed and looked to the north. “Next stop, Cajj Cajj. For these people, it promises the unknown. It promises the rumour of safe haven. For your children, a rumour is a solid rope to grasp on to.” Sabienn viewed the teaming masses receding behind them with detached interest. “Keep on point, Bray,” he said. “I’m not here to protect them. I’m not here to speak up for them. I have my own problems. Remember that.” He reached into his cloak pocket to retrieve the note freshly retrieved from Grey Cape. He made a quick perusal of its contents and noted the paper was the same edible paper as a Supreme Order. Sabienn handed the note to Bray, “Gather the boys.” They moved to the hold where Stork sat and their tall friend Deep, who had been tending ropes at the stern, came to join them. “What’s news?” said Stork. Bray took a seat next to Stork opened the paper and read the words of Grey Cape, “Further notes. A warning. The Secret Police have been alerted. They’re in the shadows on Cajj Cajj. Your father wants you killed. Be aware. Your quest is to seek a photo of Roal Surss. This man used to be a guard at Mission Cinnamon holding cells at the time of your birth. He was in charge of the women whose ears you carry.” Bray stopped briefly and they turned to Deep who patted the precious bag that he had stitched within his cloak. It contained the ear remnants of seven women they were committed to returning to the graves at Mission Cinnamon which may or may not belong to the mothers of three of them. Bray continued from the page, “The photo is a group shot with other workers at Mission Cinnamon and is the only known object that this man has touched of his time there. Surss works at Central Library Korback. He translates native text. You will need a silver pass to access his sanctum. I have two contacts in Port Cord. One is called Peer Jepp. The other is clearly crazy but may appear. Gain the silver pass from Jepp. Get a read on the photo and get out. The invasion will occur within two weeks as a result of an incident that has yet to occur. Go to Port Shale. My dog will find you. You then leave for Turrland.” Bray looked the paper over for any tell-tale irregularities that only he could spot but there were none. “That’s it.” “That’s it?” enquired Stork. “A “good luck and die well” would have been nice. Seems like a lot of gaps.” “Gaps?” argued Bray. “What else do you want? The Grand Inquisitor Profound Murrlock Hyde, the second most powerful man in Hayddland, the man whose blood runs through the veins of the four of us, wants to kill us? Seems straight forward.” “Don’t focus on the good bits, Steel,” said Stork to Bray. “Try and get in the holiday spirit.” “So the first stop is the depot?” said Bray tapping the maps in his pocket. “Only as a rallying point,” said Sabienn. “We may need a rest.” After a few more read throughs so the details were solid for all of them, Sabienn took it upon himself to tear up the note and eat it as a side dish with his apple. His dining was interrupted by a gruff Jossack, their captain, moving up the freshly-painted boards of his boat. “Sharpen up,” Jossack observed of his four passengers, “You look like tourists? At least try to be fishermen.” In response to the call, the four men donned their black beanies given to them. “And look lively.” With this he shoved a scrubbing broom into Sabienn’s hands who duly swung it into action and started brushing the deck. Pointless, thought Sabienn. The more sea-spray you brush, the more it returns. We should have been in the water last night but for the storm. So much precious time lost under the cover of night. He looked toward the sky of pink and crimson housing the reliable presence of the green and the blue moon and paused for a breath. It brought a renewed hope in him for the mission he and his three friends were to undertake. Sabienn saw his friends take cloths in hand and start wiping down rails and hatches and panes of glass. They worked with diligence and intent but he could see they all felt their efforts were totally useless. But at least they looked the part. Jossack turned to his four passengers and glared. “Winged men,” he said. “I’ll speak my mind. Why the loved one would want to be with you beggars belief.” He reached into his pocket to remove his Blue Moon Bible and brandished it as if to shield him from evil. “There are no winged men here. Nowhere in sacred text. You should be banished to the pit of darkness.” Stork offered blandly, “Thank you. We feel better now. But don’t hold back what you really think.” “Ptth!” Jossack spat. “Smart-arse. Break out your rifles and look sharp. There’ll be trouble on the waters. Time to earn your keep.” With that he moved away to take control of his vessel. Viewing from the bow, Sabienn saw their boat along with other smaller craft were hugging the coastline, leaving the troubled specks of life on the dock far behind. It rounded a headland and the ornate dome of the Deerland War Memorial appeared, shining in the morning light. It had five flagpoles consisting of four smaller ones and one huge one in the centre and they already had their colours flying. He looked to the simple flag of Deerland with its red background and its central orange sun flapping in the breeze. The flagpoles ringed a flame of remembrance and the war graves of the Deerland fallen. They were men and women who had fought alongside the Hayddland troops during the Bol War thirty years ago. For the Deerland people it was sacred ground and visits to the site had become a pilgrimage for its countrymen. It was a dominating and beautiful sight and Sabienn looked on in awe. He noted Deep, who in his quiet way seemed to value traditions the most of the four, looking toward the dome and assuming his tall and well-proportioned frame into a stance of respectful attention. Watching him, Bray and Stork followed suit. The three of them looked toward the big dome not in rigid remembrance but in calm ponderance. “Hey Bray,” called Sabienn. “What’s the radius again?” “Five kilometres,” Bray replied. “With the dome at the centre. It’s an umbrella of Deerland sovereign territory here in Hayddland. Why aren’t we moving to the sea?” “Tactics,” said Sabienn. “These waters are officially Deerland. The army and Secret Police generally hold back. Hey Deep, who’d win a fight between Hayddland and Deerland?” “Deerland,” said Deep. “No contest.” “We’d be out-gunned and out-manned,” chipped in Bray. “That’s why we’re safe here,” said Sabienn. “We’re about to go to war with Turrland. The Great Leader, bless his dark little heart, needs to keep the big country on side.” His reference to the supreme leader of Hayddland who tried to have the four of them killed caused a stir in the group. “Deerland couldn’t give a s**t who it’s with. As long as it looks fashionable,” called Stork. “Can you imagine TGL bringing in all the Deerland ambassadors just to tickle their bellies? I’d love to be a fly on that wall. Just to throw up.” As if by signal, once the boat aligned itself with the dome on the shore, it swung around to veer north pointing into the treacherous expanse of the Knife Reef Sea. Sabienn knew the expanse of water was cursed with variant depth and deceptive shallows. Below its peaceful blue flesh lying in wait for the unprepared were sharp sturdy outcrops of coral ready to slice a hull to hell. He’d seen a knife move easily through the belly of a pig and had been told it was much similar. Under the sudden glare of Jossack who had poked his head out of his cabin, Sabienn directed his friends. Rifles were handed round, removed from their water-proof wrapping and he lay in wait looking out to the water. He handed binoculars to Bray who had the best eyes. They were well past the reach of the Deerland safe zone and rocky outcrops appeared above the surface, lapped by the ceaseless waves. A small taxi craft with a thin hull came into view, broken and disintegrating on an outcrop like a sad insect with a gash through its guts. The craft, not built for sea travel must have tried to make the crossing at night during the storm. Sabienn could still see that little boiling of the sea around it to show the ravenous red-eyed shardee mopping up the last morsels of meat as only that evil fish did. “There!” shouted Bray. He put down his binoculars that he’d been peering through and pointed out to an island rock. His friends couldn’t see anything but knew enough to put their lives in the hands of Bray’s eyes. The binoculars were passed to Sabienn who viewed the direction pointed. There was nothing obvious. Then a head bobbed above a rock. It was a momentary lack of discipline characteristic of the stray youth these pirates preferred to press gang. Full credit to Bray for picking up that spot.