Why The Sister Moons Swallowed Rage

1. In Love With A Face“Stop!” the woman cried. “That’s the man there! He stole my husband’s condoms.” Sabienn watched Stork running toward him with the paper bag he had just lifted from the woman leaving the coffee shop. He had been standing at the street corner shielded by a building alongside Bray and Deep lit by the street lights when Stork joined them out of breath. “Well, that went well,” offered Bray. “I told you it didn’t matter,” said Sabienn. “The headaches practically gone.” “Oh, that’s gratitude,” said Stork passing the bag across to Sabienn. “Here’s me thinking I’m doing you a favour. For the past day and a half, we’ve been tossed and churned on the sea. You haven’t stopped heaving your guts. And I was actually sorry for you. Well, excuse me.” “I can buy pills,” said Sabienn. “I’ve still got heaps of bol.” To emphasise he produced a roll of bound Turrland currency from his cloak. “Hey, hello,” said Stork. “The shops are closed. Remember? You’re whining like a baby about your head. A lady sits next to us spruiking about the powers of her headache pills. You heard her. In there, in the bag. Sitting next to us. And I’m the bad guy ‘cause I want to take action. Now I’ve got pills no-one wants and a pack of hot rubbers.” Stork looked to Bray staring at him. “And don’t look like that, Steel. Like I’ve just spoilt a night of true romance. Oh yeah. Like I care.” “We’ve got cops,” said Deep. From their hidden vantage, they saw the woman’s calling had attracted two Turrland uniforms of the Port Leer police force. “Let’s go,” said Sabienn, turning to move away. “No,” said Bray. “Give it to me.” He held his hand out to Sabienn to retrieve the taken package. “Have you got rocks?” said Stork. “Leave it.” “Move,” said Sabienn. “It’s the principle,” said Bray, taking the bag. “Look, I caused this,” said Stork. “I’ll take it.” “It’ll be fine,” said Bray, securing his beanie over his springy curled locks of hair ensuring his short ears weren’t on display. He began to walk towards to the woman and police. “Wait,” said Sabienn. “What’re you doing?” He watched his friend make deliberate and clear steps towards the police. “Stay here,” said Sabienn turning to Deep and Stork and ran to catch up, adjusting his own headwear. It was the woman who spoke next. “There,” she pointed to Bray, gaining the two officer’s attention. “That man there. He was with them.” “Madam,” said Bray in Turr, finally reaching the gathering. “There’s been a misunderstanding. I believe these are yours.” Bray proffered the parcel across to the woman and was rewarded with one of the police officers spinning him around and applying wrist ties. In his best Turr accent, Sabienn addressed the gathering as he arrived. “Hey, hey. There’s no problem. He’s my client.” Fifty-fifty, thought Sabienn. Just bowl through with authority. “Who’re you?” said one of the officers, addressing the new arrival. “Who d’you think?” said Sabienn politely but firmly. “When I say “client” what do you understand by that? The weather’s been good. Why not take a walk on the waterfront? It’ll pick you up.” “Who are you?” said the second officer. Sabienn moved in close to the officers. “Just someone who doesn’t want this to go to a place of no return. It’s all good here. We’re done, OK?” Sabienn nodded his head towards Bray. “He’s with me.” There was a pause as the officers looked at each other. Sabienn looked at them feeling his gamble had lost. The first officer leaned in to address Sabienn, “Are you a yellow man?” What the hell’s a yellow man? thought Sabienn. He brought his finger to his lips, “Shh!” There was another long pause as the officers looked at everyone. The first officer then cut the ties binding Bray as the other officer retrieved a device from his official top pocket and took a photo of Bray. “Go,” he added. “Hey,” said the woman, feeling miffed. “What about me?” “There’s nothing to see here, ma’am,” said the first officer. The two uniforms moved away as Sabienn grabbed Bray and bolted from the scene. “Thanks,” said Bray to Sabienn. “Something’s not right,” said Sabienn barely acknowledging his friend. “It was too easy. Keep your eyes peeled.” Sabienn gathered the others and they fled to the seclusion of a park and found a lit bench. They sat around and discussed the event. “A yellow man?” said Stork. “And what’s with the photo?” said Bray. “Strange,” said Deep. “Be on our guard.” The others took on the big man’s comment as spoken wisdom. By the park light, Sabienn retrieved from his cloak the note he had received from his mentor, Grey Cape. It had been the morning of the previous day that he had received it via Grey Cape’s dog, Eddals. Only now Sabienn felt that if he swallowed it, he could keep it down; such was the discomfort within his guts. He held the paper and read the words on the page to himself one last time. “Further notes. Turrland is drawing a blank. My sources on the ground can’t sense any mood. But make no mistake, Turrland will be invaded. Beware of lone operatives. The Secret Police have some reach. And you’ve humiliated your father enough to know he’s committed to seeing you killed. Your quest is to seek and get a read on a Blue Moon Bible owned by a monk, Brother Hy of the Seem. Your passage will be several boats to Port Leer in the Province of Fram. Eat lightly, the sea is unforgiving. From here make your way north. Go to the Blue Moon Monastery at Seahawk in the Province of Heer. There are many things I am not telling you about Brother Hy for fear you may not accept this quest. But it’s deemed to be a solid lead in the finding of the missing stone. Once complete, proceed to Port Ree in south Heer. My dog will find you. You then take an airship to the disputed territories of Deerland. Good luck and safe travel.” Sabienn looked at the paper and felt it in his hands for the last time before disposing it in his mouth to disappear in a tasteless gulp. After his meal he looked across the table at his friends. “Grey Cape hasn’t given us much. Any ideas?” “Find an airport,” said Stork. “No more boats. And I’m not up for a bus either.” Sabienn looked across to Bray who had a troubled look on his face. “I don’t know if I should say this?” said Bray, reacting to Sabienn’s gaze. “It’s too late now, Steel,” said Stork. “Spit.” From his pockets, Bray retrieved the maps still wrapped in plastic that they had lifted from the dead soldier they had unburied in Hayddland called Oololo. Sabienn looked on at the maps and knew they were of no use to them anymore. They held the landmarks and the positions of Hayddland and Cajj Cajj as they were at the time of the Bol War, thirty years ago. Since leaving both of those countries, Sabienn viewed the maps of no further use, except for the historical oddity of the one of Hayddland containing marks of interest called the West-East Corridors. Within the package of maps Bray withdrew another plastic bag and emptied its contents on the table before them. Sabienn looked at the items and had forgotten they were still with Bray. It was the photo of a little girl and the note she wrote to a father now dead. With care Sabienn picked up the photo for a better look and remembered the vision he had of how they came to be here. Oololo, who had been a sergeant in the Hayddland army, killed a captain in the Turr army and these maps and personal effects were retrieved from the dead captain’s pockets. Sabienn looked long and hard at the photo of this innocent and pretty girl, with her short brown hair and elegant pointed ears marking her as a Turr. She had longing sweet brown puppy-dog eyes looking to the side of the camera lens with nothing but trust for a mother and father in a world gone mad. Thirty years on, maybe she’s still waiting for her father to walk through the door, he thought. Bray picked up and read the accompanying note, lovingly decorated with scrawled wild flowers, which Sabienn up until then had dismissed as unimportant. “Daddy, Daddy come home,” read Bray blankly. “Mummy reads the cow and wolf but she can’t moo like you. Come home. Love love love. I love you Daddy. Troot.” Bray then pointed to the paper. “And here at the bottom. Small print. Almost lost to anyone who doesn’t look hard. “Lit a candle. Whole family. Theatre closed. Kept people out on Crate Street. All Port Leer up in arms. You know my sister. Shake had another litter. More cats, no food, all happy. Changed hinges. Door opens wider. Come home.” That’s it.” When Bray had finished reading the group sat silent for a while, looking at their hands on the table. “This should be in the hands of someone that knew him,” added Bray. Deep piped up with a croak in his throat. “We could use the local knowledge.” “Agreed,” said Stork quietly. Sabienn looked to Bray who produced a tourist brochure they had been using as a map until then. It held a rudimentary view of the streets of Port Leer before them. “We’re here,” pointed Bray to a green area on the map. “Crate Street is here. It’s near.” “Hey,” said Stork. “You’ve been steering us this direction. Ever since the boat, we’ve been going this way. You’ve had this in the back of your mind all this time.” Bray looked back as if he had been found out. “I know you, Steel,” said Stork. “You’re in love with a face.” He tapped the photo on the table with the tip of his finger. “And if she’s got a younger sister, maybe you shouldn’t’ve sent those rubbers back so quickly.” “Well that’s disgusting,” reacted Bray. “Even for you.” “Just seeing your motives are pure,” said Stork unperturbed as he leant back to view the others. “Hey, I’m up for a night at the theatre. Let’s go.” The four men found their feet and let Bray lead them through the streets. In the back alleys there was a stench of fish in the garbage to mark the leftovers of locally caught produce. Their boots squelched through the water of washed out eat halls. It was dark and people were making their way home after a meal on the town. Sabienn watched the local Turrs going about their travels. There were families all well-dressed with cloaks and coats to keep out the stiff breeze. They looked happy with no need to hide their resplendently pointed ears. “Car,” called Bray. Sabienn and the others found cover in a doorway as they looked up ahead. “Where?” Sabienn could only see a man in a badly fitting cloak with his head in his hands. He was probably affected by alcohol and was sitting on the opposite footpath with his back to the wall. As Sabienn’s eyes became accustomed to the shadows before him, he saw the parked vehicle up ahead on their side. Passing lights behind the car indicated two heads in the front seat. “Good spot,” he said to Bray. At that moment, Sabienn saw a yellow van move slowly up the alleyway in the direction they were going. It ran silently on its battery and made only crunching sounds as it ran over cardboard cartons on the road surface. The vehicle kept moving slowly until it passed the man sitting on the footpath. Then it parked and killed its lights. The driver door opened and a lone man alighted. The door of the rear compartment slid open, and the man began to stir some container that was clearly giving off steam into the dark night of alley smells. A portion was dolloped into a small container in his hand. “It’s a soup kitchen,” said Sabienn. “I’ve got this.” He began to walk toward the van. “Wait,” cried Bray but Sabienn was off on his way to assist. At that moment, the man with the soup container became aware of Sabienn approaching him and stood in apprehension. In the dim lighting it was noted he wore a neat dark blue uniform with no logo. His hair was neat and greying and swept back to expose Turr ears. His manner appeared polite and professional but to Sabienn, he was bracing for an attack. “All well, brother,” said Sabienn in his best Turr accent, trying to sound collegial. “Good night for good deeds.” Out of the corner of his eye, Sabienn noted the vehicle with the two heads bring its lights up and slowly back out of the alleyway. The soup man appeared to relax at Sabienn’s comments and continued to tend the man on the footpath. Sabienn looked on at the sitting unfortunate. His cloak is shabby but he’s clean shaven. He’s had a recent haircut but he’s clearly affected with alcohol. He looks like he has a place to go. This doesn’t add. As Sabienn thought, soup was brought to the lips of the footpath man and he gulped a portion as if he was used to the comfort of receiving liquid. It rested on his tongue for the warmth of a few seconds before his eyes suddenly bulged and he spat furiously trying to rid his mouth’s contents to the ground. The footpath man was now struggling to get up and away from the soup man’s pastoral care. “Some assistance, brother?” said the soup man. It was a shock to Sabienn to hear him speak in a perfect Haydd tongue. Does this guy know me? As if sensing Sabienn’s resistance, the soup man continued, “Please don’t be fooled. He’s a regular. Nice warm bed for him. Save him beating his wife.” On the strength of the commentary, Sabienn took hold of the footpath man’s arm. Much of the fight appeared to be leaving the spitting wife-beater as he compliantly found his feet. With the soup man on one side and Sabienn on the other, they performed a docile march to find a seat for the footpath man to rest in the back of the van. “For your troubles, sir,” said the soup man. Once the cargo had been secured, a ten bol note was proffered to Sabienn much to his surprise. Sabienn took the note and stared at it. Since when did charity pay? Nothing’s adding. With the suspected car up the street gone, Deep, Bray and Stork came from the shadows to join Sabienn and the soup man. “You knew I was a Haydd?” asked Sabienn pleasantly. “There’s no need to hide,” said the soup man. “Look around. There’s many short ears. You may get a sharp tongue but no-one died of a cold shoulder.” “But don’t you fear the invasion?” said Sabienn. “There’ll be no invasion,” said the soup man definitely. “What about Cajj Cajj?” said Sabienn, alluding to the recent attempt by the Haydd army to overrun the island state of Cajj Cajj. “Turrland is not Cajj Cajj. I trust Lord Bol. Enjoy your stay in Port Leer.” The soup man then slid the back compartment door closed on his yellow van. He then turned his attention to the other men standing there. “You men have wings?” Sabienn saw that for some reason he took a particular interest in Bray walking up to study him, as if checking his facial bone structure. “And good evening to you, sir,” the soup man said pleasantly. “Take your welcome and stick it up your arse,” said Bray with venom. The comment took Sabienn by surprise as it was so out of character for him. It would be something he would normally expect from Stork. As if on cue, Stork chimed in, “Yeah, shove it so far up, you can clean your teeth.” “Go,” called Deep. Even he spat disgust. “As you wish,” said the soup man. He appeared not to take any offence but quickly found his driver seat and brought his vehicle back to its slow travel up the alley. “Are you insane?” said Deep. He was now in Sabienn’s face laying down some energy. “What?” Sabienn was oblivious. “What the hell was that?” said Stork with his eyes still on the van moving away. “That was no soup. Did you smell that?” None of the others were going to argue with Stork’s keen sense of smell. “It’s chemical. I just can’t make it. It’s bad. That guy’s bad.” “You see that yellow?” said Bray looking at the retreating van. “I’ve seen it before. There’s something wrong.” “What d’you mean?” said Sabienn. “It’s yellow. Is some yellow more dangerous?” His tone was half-mocking. “Listen,” said Deep. He was savage now and in Sabienn’s vision like a brick wall. He was a domineering figure in his quiet moments but when he was angry he was quite intimidating. “Those two men were Secret Police.” He pointed to where the vehicle with two heads had been parked. “How do you know?” said Sabienn. Deep moved in closer. “I hear.” He pointed to his ears. “The car door opened. One said “Get him”. Then the yellow van arrived. They panicked. It was “Get back in. Go. Go.” Why is that? One thing’s for sure. We’ve been clocked. They know we’re here.” “Are you sure?” said Sabienn almost in disbelief. Deep moved in closer and lined up Sabienn’s eyes. “Sharpen up!” The rebuke shut everyone up. All of them looked to Deep. This venom was out of character. Sabienn pulled back, “Noted.” Deep moved off to continue their travel. Sabienn watched him go and entertained a private thought. Tell me to sharpen up? I’ve only saved your life a thousand times. He stowed his mood and walked off with the rest. The alleyway had kinks and turns and back-ways to shops which they employed to evade the chance of meeting the vehicles they had encountered. Sabienn looked around at the shadows in the doorways. It was a solemn march for his friends. I caused this, he thought. Keep your wits. When they broke through to the street, the theatre was in front of them on the other side. There was a blinking sign overhanging the footpath and a sparkling gutter that had been freshly hosed. The sign beckoned all to come see the latest production. Its Turr translation was “The Magic Cow Theatre presents The Lit Fuse”. People milled around on the footpath with bad energy. Police were present checking ID’s. There appeared to be a mixture of people alighting a performance trying to get away as quickly as they could but some were being grabbed and hauled by the law for more questions. “I didn’t know “The Lit Fuse” had such good reviews,” said Stork, as they watched someone begrudgingly show a photo to the law. “Look,” said Bray pointing. “Those two cops.” “It’s our friends with the condoms,” said Sabienn. “See if there’s a back entrance.” Sabienn and his friends hooded up and pulled their beanies down around their human ears. They traversed the street and found the alley by the theatre. A young voice spoke from the shadows. “Sirs,” said the voice of a young girl in polite Turr. “Are you police?” The friends turned to see in the shadows a diminutive figure in a cloak with her hood well over her head. They turned to each other before Sabienn replied in Turr, “No.” “Are you running from them?” she said. They looked again at each other before she continued, “Then follow me.” She was then off down into the dark shadows of the alley. “Come on,” she turned and beckoned them to follow. Against his better judgement, Sabienn watched her and followed. “This way,” she called. Sabienn and his friends walked behind her until they found their travel halted by the back of a wire cage. He looked around to see cardboard boxes stacked on metal shelves in what appeared to be a back storage area. As he looked around he heard a gate clang shut. The girl was on the outside applying a padlock to the only exit. The lock clicked secure. “Got you,” the girl said. The boys looked around dumbfounded feeling for another way out of this enclosed storage. “Hey,” called Sabienn to the girl fully hooded. “What is this?” In his haste he reverted to a Haydd tongue. “Short ears,” she said and called back up the alley. “Mum!” With the light so low where he was, Sabienn fumbled for a torch in his cloak. Once retrieved, he shone light on the back of the girl’s cloak. It was a purple garment with motifs of black and white cats playing. A nearby door flung open and a woman entered the alleyway. She had an urgency of head movement, looking up and down, and the small girl ran to her. Sabienn shone his light on a large well-rounded woman with dark hair pulled back over resplendent ears. “Mum,” called the girl from the protective folds of the woman. “I caught them.” She grabbed on tight before continuing, “Short ears.” “Ma’am,” said Sabienn, gripping the inside wire of the gate. “This is outrageous.” “The police,” said the girl. “These men. They were running.” The woman turned to address the captured four. “Haven’t you done enough? We’re running a business. And I want those wallets you took.” “We didn’t take anything, ma’am,” pleaded Sabienn. “We run a business here,” said the woman. “It’s tough enough without you people.” “Look,” said Sabienn, pointing the torchlight towards the girl. “We were following that girl.” The light hit the face of the girl just as her hood came back, irradiating clearly the youthful features of her countenance. As Sabienn looked on, he felt the air being sucked from his lungs. He sensed an audible gasp from his friends as well. “What’re you looking at?” said the woman with outrage. “Get your eyes off my daughter.” Sabienn blinked again at the girl. He didn’t need Bray’s laser eyes to see that the face of the girl was the spitting image of the young girl in the photo Bray kept. The girl in the picture taken thirty years ago was somehow now standing before them and no matter how many times he closed and opened his eyes, the vision stayed the same. “I’ve had it with you,” said the woman turning to call up the lane. “Police!”