The Third Level

Issue 5 Spring 2010

http://quiver.knox.edu/thethirdlevel/ E-mail: quiver@knox.edu

Table of Contents
As Red as Blood Krista Ahlberg, 2011

The physician shudders with something akin to revulsion as she leaves the babys nursery and doesnt know why, for surely there is nothing revolting about this, the perfect child.

Poems: Amaterasu, Kali, and Hieros Gamos See, look into the mirror, your skin is not melting, and your kimono is not scraping against your heart

Ashley Atkinson, 2012

The Thrill of the Hunt

Owen Kerschner, 2011

Three humans ride towards the trees from the east, and I can smell their magic from where I stand. I observe them with yellow eyes from the edge of the trees as they approach along the ancient Olgart road.

The Ferryman

Makenzi Crouch, 2012

Astrid opened her eyes and stared up into the blackness of her cabin. Somethings wrong, she thought. Unfastening the straps holding her in her bunk, she pushed off the bulkhead and floated to the comm panel.

Ahlberg 1 As Red as Blood Krista Ahlberg

Born on a cold winter morning, her mother clutches her to her breast and calls her Snow White, in the hope that she will be as pure and white as the new-fallen snow. And with a doting mother and a loving-yet-oblivious father, she is. The court physician worries about the child because she never cries, but instead looks up at her with eyes of wonder, eyes so dark a brown that they bring to mind the chocolate that has lately come from Spain. The physician shudders with something akin to revulsion as she leaves the babys nursery and doesnt know why, for surely there is nothing revolting about this, the perfect child. * At the age of five, when her mother dies, Snow White still does not cry. She knows she should, but she cannot summon the tears to her eyes. Her father wraps his arms around her and soaks the shoulders of her dress with his tears, but she only looks solemnly over his shoulder. * The physician, invited to the funeral with the rest of the household staff, sees this solemn look and glances away quickly. Soon after the death of the queen, the king falls ill. The doctor comes to treat him, but there is no physical wrong in him that she can see: indeed, he is still young, not much past thirty and, the doctor cannot help noticing, still as handsome as he ever was. But he will not eat. He has sunk into a despair so deep that she can barely manage to force broth down his throat. She comes every day, and as he drinks his barley broth or she feels his forehead for a fever, he looks at her as if she is the only thing holding him up, keeping him alive. And so it is on the day he clutches at her arm as she turns to go and says doctor, she sits on the edge of the bed and tells him to call her by her given name, though no one has used it in nigh on a dozen years. He says it as if it is a flavor he is savoring, and still he holds her by her wrist as though she might float away on a passing breeze if he does not. No one has ever looked at her like that, she thinks, and so the next time she comes she does not tie her hair up in a ribbon but lets it fall free. She does not think of what she is doing, trying to attract a king, and that mere weeks after his wifes death. She is careful not to think about it. And when the day comes that he sits up in

Ahlberg 2 bed and kisses her, she pushes all thoughts of mourning and fidelity from her mind and leans in and kisses back, just to feel his warm arms come around her and to be safe again, for the first time since childhood to have no worries or cares. This is what she has. This is who she is. * Snow White is six years old when her father marries his physician and tells her, She is your mother now. But this woman has blond hair, not brown, and looks at Snow White with lips that are pinched, not smiling. No, she can never be mother. * For her part, the new queen watches Snow White watching her and thinks, There is something wrong with that child. But she cannot think for long, because there is a line of well wishers waiting to give her gifts and congratulations, and she does not know what to do with her hands or her mouth. She settles for a half smile and clasping her hands over her stomach before quickly lowering them, though surely no one can see, no one can tell the existence of the human being growing inside her. But still she jumps out of her skin when the last person in line, a wrinkled old woman who barely reaches the queens shoulder, puts her gnarled hand upon her stomach and says ah, before handing her a gilt-framed mirror swathed in lace. She wants to recoil, but her husband is smiling and reaching out to the woman to embrace her, explaining in quiet tones that this is his godmother. She forces a smile to her lips and kisses the womans weathered cheek, and her present is the first the queen looks at that night after they have all been moved into her antechamber. It truly is a beautiful piece of craftsmanship, she realizes once she removes the lace that binds it, like none shes ever seen. She hangs it on the wall above her dressing table and thinks nothing amiss until the day it whispers as she leans in to powder her face: You really are, you know. She lets out a strangled screech and jumps back, upsetting her chair. Then she cautiously leans in again. I am what? she asks shakily, barely above a breath. The fairest of them all. * She knows she is not the fairest of them all, cannot be, shouldnt be. She must wear glasses to read fine print, her hair is not the blond of cornsilk bathed in summer sunshine but of

Ahlberg 3 dusty wheat, and her hands are almost as large as those of the king. But the mirror insists, and she knows that a mirror like this does not lie. * Snow White sees the new worry in her stepmothers face, a worry that swells along with her belly. Snow White is too young to know about the ways of men and women, and yet she knows. And the stepmother sees Snow White look at her growing stomach and turns away, always turns away with a strange look on her face. Her own mother loved her, Snow White knows, yet this new mother does not. She will only love the creature that comes out of her. * But the creature does not come. Eight months after the wedding, the queen goes to bed and the midwife, the new physician who has replaced her, comes to her and gives her teas steeped with mugwart and cool lavender-drenched cloths to place on her forehead. And yet despite all this, the baby is born still. Perhaps it was not meant to be, her husband whispers as he brushes her damp hair off her forehead and kisses her. Perhaps it was never meant to be. His words do not console her. The only thing that does is the mirror, later, alone in her room, saying You are still the fairest of them all. * Snow White grows up obstinate. The knowledge that her stepmother does not love her taints any obedience Snow White might have had. When she is ten years old, she stops speaking to the stepmother altogether. Soon, she will not even submit to the embraces of her father, and, as she grows older, her obstinacy turns to rebellion. A princess is not supposed to climb out of her bedroom window and down the trellis in the middle of the night to wander through the woods. But she finds solace in the darkness, solace she cannot find anywhere else. In the dark, no one can see her. She can be anyone she wishes to be, anyone but herself. A princess is not supposed to talk to boys she meets in the woods either. Boys with eyes that glow like firelight. For the fire, as she knows from observation, consumes all it touches. And yet, perhaps she would like to be consumed by this boy with eyes that follow her, this boy that seems to know her. Maybe if she lets him consume her, she will at last begin to feel, as she has not since the death of her mother, eight long years ago. To feel what the stepmother does not give her, can never give her. To feel that she is worthy of being loved. And so when she is fourteen she lifts her skirts to him there on the forest floor. Her heart beats hard in her throat as his kisses her cheek and then her neck. This is the moment, she thinks,

Ahlberg 4 the moment I finally become. But what she thinks to become she does not know. His lips against her neck turn to teeth, and she feels a sharp pain that makes her clap her hand to her throat. She can feel her pulse beneath her fingers, and when she brings them away, her blood shines milky silver in the moonlight that streaks through the trees. And he smiles at her, blood dripping off the teeth she suddenly sees are sharp. She scrambles to her feet, ripping her dress on a protruding root and runs, never looking back for fear that she will trip and then that hot, looming presence will be on her again. She hides under her blankets that night and makes sure her windows and her door are latched. She never sees the boy again, but that does not change anything, for she knows what he was. In the morning, she finds the blood, dried on her neck, and when she wipes it off, finds beneath two puncture holes that gape at her sinisterly until she thinks to hide them under her silk scarf from Paris. A rejected present from the stepmother, relegated to the back corner of her wardrobe, it fills its purpose now. With her wounds hidden, Snow White can at last begin to think. In all the time that she hides away from the world, she has read many books, books of lore and of fantastical creatures. She knows of the mating habits of griffins and the properties of unicorn horns. She knows when dragons prefer to hunt and why fairies sometimes eat their young. She knows that those who are vampire-bit will soon become vampires themselves. She begins to have difficulty falling asleep at night. She lies awake past midnight and awakes with a start at dawn. The times of falling asleep and waking grow closer together until she does not sleep at all. While she lies in her bed unsleeping, she probes her incisors with her tongue, feeling them grow sharper day by day, until one night a drop of blood wells on her tongue when she touches it to her tooth. She swallows the blood, feeling it slide, saltily and tasting of metal, down her throat, and finds that she likes the taste of it. It makes her feel alive as nothing has in a long time. The sun that greets her in the mornings hurts her eyes and seems more like a curse, though the farmers call it a blessing. She keeps her curtains shut all day and deigns not to go outside. From her reading, she knows what would happen to her if she does, and though she does not value life, she is not eager to see what death would have in store for one such as she. Surprisingly, she is not disgusted or afraid of what she has become. She likes the taste of the word on her tongue almost as much as she likes the taste of her own blood. Vampire. At last

Ahlberg 5 she can put a name to who she is. Not Princess. Not Snow White. Not daughter without mother. Vampire. She smiles, alone in the darkness of her room. Her skin grows parchment pale and her lips plump, hungering for the blood their color mocks. Food has no appeal for her anymore. She pushes away the sharp cheese and sweet pears she used to love. She tells the cooks to make her meat rare and tries to ignore the worried looks her father gives her as she tears into the pink and bloody steak. But she cannot ignore the looks the stepmother sends her, looks not of worry but of fear, and a strange determination. * There is something wrong with that child, the queen thinks across the dining table, as she has times too numerous to count over the years. Something very wrong. And as time passes and the child grows yet stranger, refusing to come out of her room for days at a time, her lips growing red as though stained by blood, the queen comes to the realization that something must be done about her and that she is the only one to do it. Her determination strikes her like a fever. On the evening ten years exactly from the day she became queen and received the gift of gifts, the mirror, in response to the query she has practiced for years in the secret of her room, denies her her only lifeline. Who is the fairest of them all? asks the queen. And the mirror, instead of replying, You, my queen, as is its wont, says, You are most fair, my queen, but the other lady of your house is fairer still. Snow White is fairest of them all. It cannot be. It cannot be. Snow White is barely fifteen, pale and withdrawn, with hair and lips too stark to offset her pallor nicely. The child is wrong, all wrong. The queen has known this for years, and now she takes away the only solace of a life of unreal dreams and unfulfilled expectations, of a husband who was near until the baby died, then went away forever, no tiny hand to hold in hers and no one to love and be loved by, save this cold piece of glass and gold which now betrays her. Everyone, everything betrays, falls short. There is but one solution, realizes the once-doctor now- queen, alone in her room, sprawled on the floor, her skirts all about her, her hair in disarray and face streaked with tears. If Snow White does not live, she cannot be fairest. Snow White must die, to bring the world back to where it belongs. * Snow White can make do at first on nearly raw meat that still holds some memory of blood flowing through its veins. But soon that, even with the occasional sampling of her own blood, does not satisfy.

Ahlberg 6 She takes to once again sneaking out of her bedroom window and down the trellis when the world is dark and silent, this time not to escape but to hunt. She finds that she is fast, faster than the rabbits and badgers that inhabit the wood. As she sucks from the open wounds, blood that is not her own gushing down her chin and over her hands, at last, at last, her hunger is satisfied, but only for a time. Soon she begins to crave not the sweetly diluted blood of the innocent forest creature, but a drink more noxious and all the more intoxicating. She begins to assess the risk of taking this human or that, this stable boy or that ladies maid. Who would miss them, who has family, friends, a sweetheart? Finally, she settles on the huntsman, he who brings in the meat for their table. She knows he lives alone and rarely talks to anyone. No one will look too closely into his death. But it is these same attributes, unbeknownst to Snow White, which make him so attractive to someone else. * The queen thinks of how to kill the girl. She thinks the forest the best place for it. The girl went there often enough in earlier days, before she took to shutting herself up in her room. No one will think it unnatural that she became lost there and died of starvation or exposure. The queen knows she cannot kill the girl herself, much as she would like to, to satisfy this perverse desire she has to see the girls heart, to discover at last whether she is truly human. She begins to look around, to discover who she will enlist to do her bidding. She sees the huntsman one day, drawing water from the well in the courtyard, a brace of rabbits hung on his belt. The blood streaked across his tunic belongs to him, and he to it. There is nothing out of the ordinary in the huntsman going into the forest and coming back smeared with blood. She calls him to her private chambers, not the audience chamber, for she knows she looks far more imposing against the black velvet hangings that border her mirror. He looks frightened when she makes her proposition, and stutters, The-the princess? But at her imperious nod, he straightens and salutes, though he is shaking visibly. She hands him a silver box, intricately wrought with designs of leaves and flowers, which she has picked from the treasury. Bring me back her heart in this box, she orders, and smiles at the shudder that wracks the huntsmans body. After he has gone, she wonders when the change happened, when it was that she ceased feeling joy at anything but anothers pain. * Snow White waits for the huntsman in the courtyard at twilight, where she has seen him come before after a days hunting. He comes out of the castle and goes straight to the well, raising a bucket of water and rinsing his face with it. Snow White watches him, half concealed in the rose

Ahlberg 7 walk. He is a large man, and his blood will flow thick. Her stomach twists in bitter delight at the thought. She had thought of how to approach him. She thinks he is an honorable man, and it is better to play the innocent girl than the seductive young woman this time. She taps him on the shoulder. Good sir, she says in her most girlish voice, I think I saw a young deer enter the woods not long ago, and it looked injured. Will you accompany me to find it? For a moment, she watches the play of emotions on his face. Relief wages battle with horror, until he sighs, and takes her hand, as if she is but a child, and leads her into the forest. She cannot remember the last time someone touched her. The stepmother never has, and her father not in years. The servants do not come near her and she has no friends. She has forgotten the comfort to be received from the touch of another human. Well, she thinks wryly, from a human, anyway. She does not suppose that she can be considered human anymore. They reach the clearing in the forest where everything changed forever, and Snow White takes her hand from the huntsmans gently. She did not know that she remembered how to be gentle. And this time, when she looks at him, she sees not the blood coursing through him but the depth of sadness in his eyes, and she turns away, knowing that she cannot kill him. Not him. Not this man. Princess, he calls her, and she says, No, for that is not what she is, not anymore, not ever. She looks into his eyes and sees something inside him break, and then he tells her of the stepmother and how he must kill her and bring her heart back to the castle. She knows she should be angry, should be furious, but she only feels tired, as she has not felt since the change occurred. She feels as though she could fall asleep. Maybe we can help each other, she says to the huntsman, placing her hand on his arm, and tells him to sit still. He may be a huntsman, but she is fast, and when a wild boar comes snuffling through the clearing a quarter hour later, she pounces, biting down on its neck with that swoop in her belly that she has come to equate with happiness. The huntsman watches in amazement and not just a little fear as Snow White takes his knife from his belt and slits the boar open, but he does not move. She reaches into the gaping, steaming center and pulls out the heart, clutched in her fist, and hands it to the huntsman. Give this to my stepmother, and it shall please her, Snow White says, and he never doubts her, this huntsman, but turns away, then looks at her one last time. I wont be back, she assures him, and turns also, to finish her meal. *

Ahlberg 8 The huntsman delivers the heart to the queen, and when he has left the room she removes it from its silver prison and holds it in her hands. She has missed the feel of organs beneath her fingers. She brings it closer, examining it. Something does not look right about this heart. But as it nears her face, she breathes in deeply, and the scent of fresh-spilled blood reaches her nostrils. Suddenly, an insatiable need comes over her. She has heard that when one eats the heart of a thing, one gains some of its power. She would like to gain control over the girl at last. She calls for salt for curing and prepares the heart herself, then sits in the dining hall where she has sat through so many fine banquets as queen, and there devours the heart of her stepdaughter. The blood is red on her napkin and the corners of her mouth and she feels sure that, at long last, balance has been restored. * Snow White knows that the stepmother is not a stupid woman, that sooner or later she will realize she has been tricked. But even as she knows this, Snow White cannot summon the will to move from her spot in the clearing. The darkness grows around her until it is black as pitch, and it is only then that Snow White rises to her feet, aiming them away from the place she has lived all her life, a place that has never been home, and into the heart of the forest. The house appears on the edges of her vision when the first pale streaks make their way across the sky and she moves toward it. It is small and empty, and cobwebs lay thick upon the stairs. Stains from torchlight and tallow make sinister designs on the walls and the rushes upon the floor are filthy and sparse. She would think the place abandoned if not for the seven dinner settings on the table, complete with food. She has heard of these men who are not men, who live alone and mine the diamonds that lie on her stepmothers throat and the emeralds that adorn her breast. She thinks that they will be home soon, for it is nearing dark, and that, as with the huntsman, it is best to act the part of the lost innocent child that she is not, for though she is lost, innocence was never hers. So she climbs the stairs, ducking her head at intervals, and finds seven beds ranged along the wall. She chooses the one farthest from the single window, which she is sure to cover before lying down to begin the guise of sleep. It is not long before she hears the rhythmic slam of booted feet on hard packed earth, and then the door opening and the rumble of gruff voices so different from those she has heard her whole life. She feigns sleep as the noises climb the stairs to her, and she must fight a smile when all noises stop, and she knows they have seen her.

Ahlberg 9 A child, says one. A beautiful child, says another, his tone more awed than the last. How did she get here? asks another, surely voicing the question they all feel. She pretends to start awake, and then clutches the blanket to her chin as she looks round at them all. They are as she thought: half-men, dwarf-men. She has nothing to fear from them, and yet she pretends. Oh, Im so sorry, she says, and weaves the pitiful tale of her stepmothers jealousy and attempt to kill her. They crowd around her, this one touching her knee through the blankets, this one her elbow, as if to offer comfort. You will stay with us, says the one who spoke first, and his voice is decisive and the others nod. We too are misunderstood by your kind, says the one with the brown beard. And he pats her leg before drawing away. The rest follow. We will let you sleep now. And thus begins Snow Whites time with the dwarf-men. They do not understand that she does not need to sleep, but she lets them think she must, for she still must hunt if she wishes to survive. She could kill the dwarves, she knows, but the non-human men have no appeal for her. She goes back to the unknowing forest creatures, the fawns and the rabbits, and bites her own wrist when things become too much. She can hardly keep track of all of the little men, and so she does not try. There is the one who does most of the talking for them all, who is their leader, and she addresses him when she must, smiling at the others when their brows draw too close together, and she knows they are thinking suspicious thoughts about her. Every morning when they go off to work in the mines, he tells her not to go outside and not to let anyone in, and she thinks that these not-men who have taken her in must be a bit stupid, but she nods and smiles and simpers as she must. Of course she will not go outside during daylight, for she is still not eager to taste the feasts of hell. * The queen is always cold, and cannot summon back the warmth she felt as the warm, still-bleeding heart of her stepdaughter eased down her throat. She has avoided talking to the mirror in the two weeks since the deed was done, because although she wants, no, needs to hear it say she is the fairest of them all, she knows that waves of guilt will come crashing down upon her then, to beat at her brow and worry her temples. And then who will be fairest? Certainly not she. But one day she cannot withhold any longer, and stands before the mirror in her bedroom and asks, Mirror, Mirror, on the wall, whos the fairest of them all?

Ahlberg 10 And the mirror, wanton traitor that it is, replies Although you are most fair, my queen, the one with skin as snow and lips as blood, who dwells across the forest with the dwarf-men, is fairer still. And the queen screams and bangs her fists upon the mirror, willing it to change its answer, but it cannot break, cannot change. The guilt does not come after all, only a greater anger and a greater belief that the girl must die. She is unnatural; she must be. How else did she survive the huntsman and the perils of the forest? The queen knows that she cannot tell another soul about this. The king has been more distant still since the disappearance of his only child, and lying beside her at night sighs, and looks toward the wall. No, everything she does must be done in secret, by herself. She finds the ancient books of medicine that she never used while she was still a physician, thinking them foolish and outdated, but now she pores through them carefully, and finds that what she hoped for was true. Among these books of medicine are several books of spells, and soon enough, the queen finds the answer she seeks: poison. And so in the afternoon, she walks to the orchard, carrying a basket, intent on finding the richest, reddest apple in the place. She climbs a tree in the middle of a row, first removing her shoes and stockings and bunching her dress up above her knees. She picks twelve apples before finding the most beautiful one of all. She turns it in her hands. It is strange, she thinks, flashing first white, now red as she twists it from side to side, and it is mesmerizing. She brings it close to her face and breaths in the smell of crispness, of sun and leaves and bark. Funny, she thinks, how the smell of apples never changes. She closes her eyes, feels her lids fluttering, and is transported back. She stands on this same ladder, skirts pulled up and tucked in at the waist where the fabric is already pushed out by the baby that will never be. She stands like this, smelling the apples and feeling the sun on her arms, and hears the voice of the king calling. This is in the early days of their marriage, when she is still accustomed to calling him king. She feels his hand on the back of her calf, barely brushing, gentle, and looks down at him. He smiles up at her and she smiles back, placing the apple she holds in her basket before climbing down the ladder carefully and joining her husband. He takes the basket from her arm and places it gently on the ground. Your feet are bare, he says. I know, she replies and then he sweeps her up in his embrace, kissing her forehead and then her mouth. I love you, he says.

Ahlberg 11 The remembrance of his voice, his words, his love runs through her like a shock as she stands on the ladder, so far away now from that memory and the people in it. She gasps and almost drops the apple, the perfect tool of her revenge, but catches it just in time. She prepares the poison first. Thistle bark and rue, saffron and wolfsbane, and others she has never seen or even heard of before. She holds the apple in the kitchen tongs and dips the red side in, careful not to mar the perfect, translucent white half. How came this apple to be? She asks herself, but cannot answer, intent on her task. When the apple has soaked up all the poison it can, she sets to work on the other potion she has devised. A disguise, for surely the girl will never speak to her as she is now. She takes on the appearance of a crone, and wraps her now gray and wispy hair in a cloth before going before the mirror one last time, to tell it, I will be the fairest of them all. She realizes the ridiculousness of this statement looking as she does, but decides not to care. * Snow White lies on her back upon the floor of the dwarves dining room, looking up at the cobwebby ceiling. Her dress will pick up the muck from the boots the dwarf-men refuse to take off and the dust that has accumulated in this house over the years. They have asked her to clean it, but she does not know how, nor does she wish to learn. She wishes only to lie on her back and sleep, but that is one thing she cannot ever do. A knock comes at the latched door. For days, Snow White has wished for just such an occurrence. The dwarves tell her she must not let anybody in, and yet Snow Whites stomach twists with pleasure and her mouth waters at the thought of true blood at last, thick and true. She has not eaten in days, depressed by the monotony of robin and raccoon. This passing traveler may be the solution to her desire. Who is it? she calls in the sweetest voice she can muster. Merely an old woman selling apples, comes the reply. An old woman is not as good as a strapping huntsman in his prime, but she will do. Come in, Grandmother, says Snow White, and goes to unlatch the door. There is something wrong with this old woman, Snow White knows, but what, she cannot tell. And the apples she sells are so red, so luscious, as red as the blood that flows trickling from veins. She thinks that she could eat these apples, though she has not tasted human food for months. The old woman holds up a strange apple, far more beautiful than the others. This apple is Snow White, half as white as snow and half as red as blood. And yet she hesitates, for though it looks like blood, she knows it will not taste of it.

Ahlberg 12 The woman senses her hesitation, but misinterprets it. Here, dearie, Ill bite from the white half, and you from the red. And yes, it is appropriate, this way of doing things, for Snow White is now steeped in blood, and this old womans blood will add to it soon enough. And so she takes the bitten apple from the old womans hand and raises it to her mouth and bites a chunk out of the red half. It is too heavy, too sweet, and she sucks in a mouthful of air, trying to rid herself of the taste. As she breathes, the apple catches in her throat, sticks there, and she cannot move it one way or the other. A little air seeps in around the edges of the apple, but not much, and were she human, she would surely suffocate. She tries to draw in breath, and feels the apple lodged in her throat. She feels a pressure in her lungs that creeps upward, past her pale hands clutching her throat, past the impenetrable fruit, to her head. She feels dizzy and before her eyes the vision of the crone swims. She smiles hazily and for a moment Snow White thinks she looks familiar. Of course, she is familiar. Snow White feels weak. The apple trembles in her hand and she remembers suddenly how many days she has gone without feeding, why the floor has lately seemed the best place to be. She watches the apple fall, and then she is falling too, the floor crashing into her cheek and hip. When she can move again, can place her arms and climb to her feet, the crone is gone and a hollow laugh is in her ears. She walks haltingly to the door and pulls it open, thinking only of finding blood to drink, to ease the apple down her throat. Twilight has arrived without her knowing and she stumbles through the dusk, hearing the skittering of small animals and thinks, anything, even a squirrel will do. But the pressure is rising behind her eyes again, the ground coming up to meet her once more. The dwarves find her there, lying face down outside their front door, when they return from the mines. She hears their voices all around her, but she cannot make her voice create any sound but a thin hiss, cannot even open her eyes. They fashion for her a glass coffin and lay her in it, arranging her carefully, not afraid to touch her now in death. And so she lies in her coffin in the middle of the woods, not dying, no, but not truly living either. But then, she thinks, she was never truly living. * The queen thinks to be exuberant when she stands before her mirror and asks Who is the fairest of them all? and it answers her While Snow White lies still as death, you, my queen, are fairest. She thinks to feel completed, but she does not. She feels just as empty as before, and tired, so tired. She takes to her bed, and though the king tries to comfort her, he shows none of the

Ahlberg 13 tenderness he did in the orchard so long ago, and his words do not heal, but wound deeper. And so she lies in her bed, fairest of them all, and waits for the judgment she knows will come. * Snow White lies still until the day she hears a voice unlike the gruff ones she has become accustomed to near her coffin. This voice is clear and sweet, and holds the promise of blood as rich as the apple was lacking. This voice belongs to arms that lift the edges of her coffin, there in the deepest clearing of the woods, where no light ever shines. She feels warm breath upon her face, but cannot lift her eyelids to see, and then she feels strong arms under her shoulders, lifting her, and a sharp jolt as she is set down again higher up. The jolt moves something inside of her, and suddenly she is able to choke up the apple that has kept her prisoner for these long days and weeks. She breathes in, finally tasting the air sweet and tangy with the moss on the trees and the sweat of the man before her. She opens her eyes to find herself atop a mule, looking into the astonished face of a man with dark hair. His eyes are blue, bright blue, and she can see a flush in his neck and cheeks that means blood, means nourishment, means life and death. He laughs, a short, deep bark, and strides to her, taking her in his arms and kissing her. And yet this human contact, the first she has had in months, does not carry the comfort that the huntsmans grasp did, nor even the shallow care that her fathers embraces used to display. He crushes her to him, letting out a shuddering breath that feathers through her hair. She can feel the desperation in his touch and his voice as he says, At last, at last. This man is hot and cold, passionate and perhaps cruel, but she thinks that none of it is truly for her. After all, who is she? She knows she does not deserve the love he ardently expresses to her, because there is no love, only hot passion and cold fear, and one will be exchanged for the other before long. And so she smiles into his neck as he holds her, dry tongue tracing the points of her teeth, positioning them as he talks of how grand their wedding will be. She has always thought that she would like to be queen.

Atkinson 1 Poems: Amaterasu, Kali, and Hieros Gamos Ashley Atkinson Amaterasu Amaterasu, do not dismay, warm wise woman of the Sun, your sake-satiated siblings will not drunkenly run through your rice paddies anymore. Your stone shrines will remain clean and pure; your palace will not be defiled with Susanoos excrement again. Your brother will listen when you, the eldest sister, cry, No! And the men from across the sea will listen to you when you say that the people of Hiroshima and Nagasaki are innocent, that they only listened to the emperor, and that he does not represent you. Put the image of a skinless horse out of your mind. Your handmaidens, still weaving in their innocence, will remain safe. And the modern weavers, when they wake up in the morning of August 6th, 1945, wont have to see the sun completely overshadowed by a bomb. Amaterasu, Goddess of the silken robes, do not hole yourself in a cave. There are no soldiers or American admirals yet forcing you or your Sun children

Atkinson 2 to become like them, power-hungry, land-hungry, human-hungry. See, look into the mirror, your skin is not melting, and your kimono is not scraping against your heart, your dry and parched under wear. Dance, lets dance, and laugh that at least excrement helps things grow. Amaterasu, black-haired beauty, you must be there when your children cry out for mizu in their strangled voices, caught in barbed wire, gulping black rain, their bones stunned into ash. You must be the Sun. When the people do not believe that life will grow for seventy-five years, you must will the bud to peak its head by peaking your own head out of this cave. You must tell them that eventually there wont be any more lumps or soot or blasts or waxing or waning bodies. You must tell everyone, so come out of that cave and into this sunless land.

Atkinson 3 Forbidden Truths for Kali I. Goddess, look me in the eye! I am the Tantric devotee, the one who challenges you to loll your tongue at me, to wave your bloody cleaver in my hot-breathed face. Take me, rape me, drink blood and wine until you know not the difference. You are the ultimate form of pancatattva, the five forbidden truths, and I will conquer this artificial world through you who is denied. Your nude black body, your hair entangled with severed arms, your necklace of smiling skulls, your fangs dripping blood; these all inspire me to conquer you. I think you must be coming. I hear the scraping of your sword, the thumping of a corpses heart. How these cremation grounds taste of earthy souls and erect penises. Human fluids are steaming, pulsing inside you; these oozing wounds have become your cosmetics. How your anklets ring in the silent death that is this night, echoing in my blood-filled heart. You whisper, death is my desire. II. I cannot look you in the eye. I refuse to see your fangs and your tongue, now rolling over my body. Hot breath overcomes me, and I do not wish for anything but you. III. Listen, as she drunkenly dances over my corpse-like body. Listen, as she thrusts herself

Atkinson 4

into me, demanding death. Listen. How her anklets ring!1

The Gospel of Sri Ramakrishna.

Atkinson 5 Hieros Gamos Even before the advent of cuneiform, priestesses took part in Hieros Gamos, the sacred marriage between the land and sky, between the female and male, between the Goddess and God. Some still honor this tradition. She can see him running now with his hair of grass disheveled, the warmth of his breath hunting for her insides. He moves alongside the elk, listening to its blood rushing, and pulls out his chiseled dagger, aiming for the heart, swift. The rushing blood soon on his hands, he smells its soul leaving its body, asks the elk for its blessing of the harvest. The sacred, sacrificial animal of Beltane. Prancing hooves, furry antlers, he has become the hunter, after he understands the hearts of the hunted. He sprints through the forest, blending, honoring, becoming. She is decorated with blueberry paint and symbols sacred to the Goddess. A labyrinth, a shedding of consciousness. Two triangles intertwined, the essence of Hieros Gamos. She scents her hair with the musky dusk, and dances around the Maypole in celebration. She is to become the full-fledged priestess tonight, overcoming trials of dagger and chalice. He approaches, hot and pulsing. He stalks the sacred bed, ready to join the animals in their sacred rituals. They feel the Earth caving to their demands. She shivers as the berry paint smears into her. She feels the wind push out and in, the horns gently grazing her in pleasure. She feels the world ripple and tear, making way for the new spring. She is the Goddess tonight, and he is the God.

Kerschner 1 The Thrill of the Hunt Owen Kerschner

Three humans ride towards the trees from the east, and I can smell their magic from where I stand. I observe them with yellow eyes from the edge of the trees as they approach along the ancient Olgart road. The male is a fighter; he carries a sword imbued with flames and he carries himself erect, eternally ready for attack. The larger female leads with a quiet strength and bears a longbow and many enchanted tattoos, whose effects are too tightly bound to her for me to discern beyond their mere presence. The third one, though, is a smaller, frightened female she stinks of Primal Chaos. She is a Chaos Mage; there can be no mistaking the signs. Chaos Mages are able to bend the unearthly essence of the worlds beginning to their will, whether to injure creatures, transform objects, or move from place to place in an instant of insanity. The humans risk much in coming this way. Humans call this forest the Madwood because the stench of Chaos is thick in this place, where human Chaos Mages once warred with other mages and accidentally imbued the land itself with the twisted energies of raw creation. Here the trees might bend down and spear you on thorns and branches as sharp as my fangs or a random flare of power twist an ordinary animal into a chaos mutant. Most human maps dont even record the Olgart road anymore because it runs straight through the Madwood; to enter it is to court death or worse. Even so, there is no place I would rather be. Unlike the humans, I welcome the danger, for I am well suited to overcoming it. Another wolf lopes up beside me and bows his head in deference. Greetings, Tamna, he says with his mind. The scouts have returned. The twisted-bear-talon-prey is worthy of the Hunt, though steadfast in its course. It ignores our harrying and runs here. Luna will float high when it arrives. I lift my muzzle high, still observing the humans. The Chaos Mage draws it here. The danger to the humans is great, but their presence may prove a mixed boon to the Hunt. We will not deny ourselves the opportunity which the humans presence grants us, but for their sake and ours the prey dies this night. Go now and rally the pack, I inform him. He bows his head and turns to leave, but hesitates and looks back at me. If it reaches the humans..? he begins to ask. My eyes flaring wide, I turn and snap my jaws at him with a snarl, cowing him. If it reaches the humans, cub, then we catch it and kill it before it reaches the Chaos Mage and gorges on her raw power. If we fail in that, we will die with the humans. Now GO, I

Kerschner 2 growl. He runs back to the rest of the pack with his tail between his legs while I turn back towards the human trio. He is young and ignorant, but some things should be obvious even to cubs. It is well for him that Darthra is his mother and not I, else I would do more than merely rebuke him. He will learn or he will die and be howled to rest like any fallen pack-mate. The humans still confuse me, though. Why would they risk bringing a Chaos Mage through the Madwood? I raise my eyes to gaze upon Luna. She hangs low in the sky, and darkness hides half of her silver form. Though my wolf form is ill-suited to laughing, I feel the urge to do so. To think that humans look upon Lunas radiance and think only to call her the Moon! How little of her nature is in that word. I and my pack will use the strength which Luna gave us this night, and we will praise her with the blood of our Prey. I turn back into the trees and run back to the bulk of my pack. When I arrive, the whole pack is present. Twenty werewolves bow their heads to greet me. My mate Keldor approaches me and we nuzzle briefly. He knows as I do that greater shows of affection must wait, for now at least. Parting our heads, his eyes meet mine as the pack clusters around us. Darthras cub grows anxious, Tamna. He fears, and his fear nearly consumes him. Keldor says. What would you have me do? I ask him irritably. He is old enough and strong enough for the Hunt, but we all fear when we are cubs. The Hunt will cure him of that soon enough. Keldor bares his teeth at me with a growl. His fears will be his death this night, but you lead us. He reveres your prowess, your cunning, your hunting-guile. Your assurance can put him at ease long enough for him fight, and then he will be cured of his fears. No! I snarl at him. I will not coddle him; he is not a helpless human newborn. He will lose his fear in battle against the Prey. But this prey is larger than any Ive seen, Keldor counters. If he fears it, he will die. Then we will howl him into Lunas embrace. I turn to the rest of the pack and speak to them all with my mind. Tonight we hunt a mighty foe, a Chaos Mutant of rare size and power. I turn to face the cub, ignoring Keldors cold gaze. Once again the cub is cowed by me, and I speak to him so all can hear. Tonight you shall hunt with us, cub, and under Lunas light you shall name yourself with the blood of our prey. He bows his head and the rest of the pack and I howl to Luna, singing of the glory of the Hunt. We finish our howl and I speak to the whole pack. There are humans here in the wood. They draw the Prey to themselves, for one among them is a Chaos

Kerschner 3 Mage. This gives us the advantages of surprise and ambush against the prey, and we will use both. The assembled werewolves look among themselves, some uncertain, some pleased with my tactic. Darthra, the cubs mother, is not pleased, and locks eyes with me. This is folly! If the prey eats the Chaos Mage it will grow and mutate further, and one pack may not be enough to take it down. What if it leaves the trees and finds a human town? How many would die before we find enough packs to kill it? she says. I snort in anger, but I do not bare my teeth or growl, for her question is apt and deserves an answer. We have the speed to kill the prey before it gets close to the Chaos Mage and the strength to hold it back from her. But even if we falter, the other two humans have their own battle magic, and they can delay it long enough for her to escape or for us to end its life. I will approach them about fighting together. Now let us run to meet them and ready our ambush! As one we turn and run swiftly back toward the human party. We run as Luna has blessed us to run, far faster than any Wolf. Our swiftness lets us hunt well. As we run, I lead and the rest form a wedge behind me, much as birds might fly. The effect is small, but may be enough to let us get to the humans faster. The trees fly towards me and by me as I dodge to either side of them. While I run, my mind wanders. The cub shows promise, but his fear disgusts me. No werewolf should fear their prey. We are the mightiest creatures in the land, blessed of Luna and tasked by her with hunting the most dangerous of magical beasts! Fear is for young cubs, prey, and humans. Why fear pain or injury when we can heal most wounds in moments? I growl quietly as I run. The cub will hunt, the cub will fight, and the cub will survive with no more help than any other member of the pack. He must. He will not fail, not like my son My mind ranges back to another time, another hunt. My own son was ready to earn a name in Lunas eyes and become an adult in the pack. We faced a smaller Chaos Mutant, a fanged horse with spines sprouting from its hide. I was certain that we would kill it with little effort, but we were a new pack then, just Keldor, my son, and another mated pair. I insisted that my son lead the charge, and as he sprang towards it he shifted into his hulking war form with ease. But I erred. It extended its spines in less time than the flap of a humming birds wing, impaling my son in a dozen places. In that instant both I and my son were frozen in fear, and in the next moment it snapped its head around and cleanly severed his head from his neck. The rest of us were able to kill it easily enough by biting through its spines and slashing its eyes, but my son was dead because of fear; his fear of death prevented him from fighting back, and my fear of his death made me hesitate. We howled his soul to rest in Lunas embrace, but I knew that I had made two mistakes. I had made him attack alone before anyone else instead of

Kerschner 4 together as a pack, and I had let fear paralyze me. I vowed to never again let fear overcome me, and never again to indulge such pride during the hunt. I shake my head as I run and I smell that we are nearing the humans. After a moment, I come to a stop and the pack stops behind me. Where does our prey approach from? I ask my nearest scout. He shows me the images of terrain and landmarks along with a glimpse of the prey itself, and I understand which direction it is from us. I nod to him and address the whole pack. I will speak with the humans while you take positions around the preys line of approach. Cub, you will fight with Keldor and me. The rest of you know your groups. Go. They all move with haste, their forms blurring with the speed of their passing. I lope over towards the humans at a far slower pace. I see that they have stopped and dismounted in a small clearing. The male looks up and sees me approaching and draws his sword. My flesh flows and changes and in a heart beat I stand on two legs in my human form, continuing my walk without breaking stride. The males eyes widen and he lowers his sword slightly, though suspicion still clouds his eyes. Kithara, we have company, the male says in a deliberately calm voice. I see that theyve drawn a circle around their small camp site. It smells of protective magic, likely a ward against physical force to act as a barrier against any mutants which might wander their way. Chaos, though, is always shifting, always changing. A ward will give them a few precious moments, but no ward can last for long against Chaos. The leader female stands and faces me, and I stop a few feet away from the warding circle. Name yourself and your business with us, she says. She lowers her hand to one of her tattoos, ready to tap its magic with a touch. I nod in return. I am Tamna, werewolf and pack leader. I would speak with you of a mutual foe and how we might oppose it together. We can defend ourselves just fine, werewolf, the male says as he sheathes his sword. The female Kithara turns to look at the male in anger. Be reasonable, Jenric. The werewolves know the Madwood and its dangers better than us. She turns once again to face me. We would also be glad of any help you could offer us. Who or what is this enemy you speak of? she asks. I nod. My pack and I have been stalking an unusually large and swift Chaos Mutant. Not long after we began, the beast started running in this direction at full speed for no reason we could determine. Today I spotted your group and smelt the Chaos magic of that one, I say as I point to the smaller female. Her power draws it to her like a moth to the flame, save that this moth feeds on flame. We intend to ambush it before that can happen.

Kerschner 5 Kithara glances towards the Chaos Mage, who huddles on the ground looking and smelling terrified. Kithara turns back to face me. What do you intend to do then? I point towards the preys direction of approach. It comes from there, and will arrive within the hour. We mean to ambush it, kill it, and feast upon its heart before it gets within fifty feet of your companion. We would appreciate it if you would join us with whatever combat spells you possess. Kithara nods slowly, considering my words. Of course. Frankly Im relieved that we wont be facing a mutant by ourselves. Never can tell what they can do, after all. Until they do it, of course, Kithara responds. That always makes the Hunt exciting though. Of all the kinds of magical beasts in this land, none are as satisfying to kill as Chaos Mutants. I must go now to see to my pack so we can be ready for the prey, I say as I move to leave. W-what can I do? a quavering voice says behind me. I turn around to see the young Chaos mage standing uncertainly. Its my fault that were even here, and I want to help. I regard her quietly, appraising her. How skilled are you in wielding Primal Chaos, Chaos Mage? I ask bluntly. She winces at my question and looks down. Ive only been able to do it for a week or two, and I havent used it often. I dont know much about it, but I want to learn how to control chaos so I dont put my family at risk. The only place I can learn more about chaos is the Multiversity, and this is the fastest way there from my village. She lifts her head high in defiance. I may not know much, but Ive used chaos to defend myself before, and I wont let my big sister get hurt because of me! Weve been over this, Beth! Kithara interjects, looking the smaller girl square in the eye. Im the oldest and its my job to keep you safe. You should stay here in the warding circle while Jenric and I go to fight this thing with the werewolves. No! I want to help! the Chaos mage begins, but I cut her off. Enough. Kithara is right. If you have little control over your power, then you risk all our lives in using it. Unless the battle is lost and your wards are pierced, the best thing you can do is stay here where you should be safe. If the worst should happen, though, you should try to channel your magic into fleeing from the beast. You might be able to wound it, but it is a being of chaos and may be unaffected or even healed by your attempt. Now I must go, I say as I turn and bound away, shifting back into my wolf form as I go. I look to the sky as I run, and I see Luna floating high. She tells me from her place that the prey will arrive soon, if my scouts estimates are correct. I wonder at the stubbornness of the

Kerschner 6 Chaos Mage, Beth. She cares deeply for Kithara; the smell of love on her was quite strong. I hope that she does not become reckless and attempt to wield chaos in this battle, but I know that the lure of Chaos calls to Chaos Mages. They are drawn to it, and they cannot help but want to use it. Few Chaos Mages live long enough to enjoy old age, and all too many fail to learn caution from their early failures. Every chaos spell they cast is a calculated risk, a gamble that they will be strong enough to keep the raw forces of creation in check long enough to bend them to their will and change things to better match their desires. Losing that gamble means pain and possibly death as chaos tears through their bodies, transforming flesh into sharp rock, or poisonous jelly, or nearly anything imaginable. I reach Keldor and the cub, and I survey the rest of the packs positions and the site they have chosen. Before I can comment, I hear the preys unearthly wail. It is close, very close. I crouch down by my mate, ready to pounce as soon as the prey appears. I listen for its approach, and I hear it coming towards us with unbelievable speed. As it approaches, the trees begin to stir and move; one tree slowly melts into a violently red pool of liquid, while another tree near me bursts into purple flames and begins to bend in our direction. The power of Chaos in the prey is causing the trees to stir! We cant afford that distraction; half the pack might get killed trying to split their attention between the prey and the forest. I call out to the rest of the pack with my mind. Fall back to the humans! I scream. They do not hesitate or question me. We all turn and run with Lunas speed back to the human camp. Within moments of our reaching the clearing we all come to an abrupt stop, reverse our facing and shift into our combat forms. My flesh ripples and my bones pop as I grow to stand on two large paws. I stand fully nine feet tall when erect, but I drop to one knee, readying myself to pounce. I hear Beth squeak in fear as she sees twenty one werewolves preparing for battle, and I hear Jenric unsheathe his sword and say a word to light it on fire. I can smell the spells of lighting and ice in Kitharas tattoos, as well as a dozen other spells waiting to be unleashed by her touch. A tense moment passes before the prey zooms into our view. It vaguely resembles a bear, but larger and much more gruesome in appearance. It stands twelve feet tall at the shoulder, with two separate jaws sitting side by side on its face, and its sickly purple hide is bereft of fur. At least a dozen tentacles sprout from its body, each tipped with a jagged blade of bone and all whirling. We pounce on it, stopping it with our sheer numbers. It shrieks in rage and shakes itself powerfully, knocking me and many others of us off. One flies into a tree and is impaled on spines of living metal, while I go flying into the humans ward and impact it as though it were a stone wall. It becomes briefly visible, flashing dark blue and red in a spider web pattern at the

Kerschner 7 point where I hit it. I fall to the ground and I can see that the cub and a few others still cling to the beast, using its own tentacles as anchors while they tear into it with fangs and claws. I can hear Kithara behind me tapping a tattoo and beginning to chant a spell. She stretches out her hand and a beam of icy blue magic shoots out of it and into the preys eyes. Its eyes freeze solid as I watch, and it rears up in pain. I leap back onto it and repeatedly bite at one of its tentacles at the roots. It takes several bites, but I manage to sever it. Moving to the next tentacle, this time I grab it before it can fall to the ground and I jab the jagged blade into the Preys own flesh. The cub has done much the same, and moves to sever a third tentacle. A fiery gash appears in the preys hind leg, and I can see from the corner of my eye that Jenric has joined the fray, dancing around its rear and nimbly dodging the swings of its tentacle-blades. The prey howls and flails its remaining limbs wildly, stabbing Keldor and several others deeply. I see one of my pack-mates decapitated, while four others fall off of the prey and lie writhing in pain, Keldor among them. Enraged, I dig into its flesh directly and tear and slash at it to open its wound larger. An arrow of golden lightning pierces the preys side mere inches away from my head. I briefly turn to see Kithara pulling back on the string of her bow and another arrow appearing. She fires again and pierces a tentacle which would otherwise have stabbed another of my pack mates in the neck, burning a hole through the tentacle and causing the blade to droop uselessly. The prey leaps fifteen feet into the air and lands on the edge of the humans ward, the force of its landing once again knocking werewolves off it while also causing the wards to flash under the strain of the impact. This time I manage to dig in tightly and avoid being thrown off, though I can see from my position on its back that Beth looks oddly resolute rather than terrified. Jenric runs forward to stab his flaming sword through the prey and buries the blade almost to the hilt in the preys flesh. It screams with a sound reminiscent of a pig squealing and a rabbits death-scream and pushes itself off of the ward. Jenric pulls his blade out of the prey effortlessly just as Keldor leaps high into the air, pouncing on the prey and biting its right foreleg. It bites him with both maws and shakes him viciously before tossing him twenty feet away from itself. Keldor just lies there, barely moving. The prey must have wounded him deeply for him to not ignore the pain and rush back into the fray. The cub is thrown off again along with his mother Darthra, but he sprints beneath the rearing prey and leaps upwards, his jaws clamping around its throat. It tries to swat him off but its forelimbs are tied up fending off five other werewolves. The cub holds on even as it shakes its head violently and as it rolls onto its back, crushing several of our number beneath its bulk. They remain on the ground when it rolls back up again, stunned but alive. Two thirds of the pack is now dazed or severely wounded, and several are already dead from its fury. I hear Beths

Kerschner 8 strangled cry. Turning to look at her, I see her spread her hands to either side, drawing roiling Chaos out of the land itself. She thrusts both hands towards the prey, sending a coruscating wave of acid, bone shards and ichor into the preys side. A new tentacle grows from the point of impact, and stabs Jenric through the thigh, but he severs it with his sword and moves to extract the blade from the wound. Looking stricken, Beth turns her gaze back to the beast, which once again lunges for the ward. This time the ward begins to crack; it will surely fail with one more blow. Kithara continues to shoot her golden arrows while another of my pack-mates has his heart stabbed out of his chest by a tentacle-blade, and something in Beth seems to snap. Beth screams in utter fury, and crosses her upraised arms before her. The ground rumbles and dirt flies everywhere as a massive bronze thorn erupts into being beneath the prey, impaling it. The prey collapses to the ground crippled as a hole as wide as its head has been torn clean through its gut. The cub takes advantage of this opportunity to bite the preys neck repeatedly, severing its head within moments. As he does this I tear off the beasts final tentacle and it thumps to the ground dead. The few of us who are not dead or grievously wounded continue to tear into it, just in case it is merely playing at being dead. We tear its corpse into thirds and finally howl our triumph to Luna. Victory! And the cub proved himself the master of his fear, just as I told Keldor he would. Wait. Where is Keldor and where is the cubs mother? I look around and see that Keldor still lies where he fell. His chest rises and falls slowly. I leap over to him and examine his wounds. Some are very deep, but even now I can see his flesh knitting back together thanks to Lunas greatest gift. We can heal from nearly any wound, save those inflicted by silver, Lunas sacred metal. I kneel close to Keldors face and he opens one eye to look at me. It is dead? he asks me with his mind. I nod to him. Yes, it is dead. The cub latched onto its throat and severed its head. He closes his eye. Good. I am glad that I was wrong about him. He opens both eyes and looks at me intently. But you must go to the humans now. I will heal, though the deeper wounds may take a few hours and I will surely need to sleep for the next week. Remember the cub as well, for he has earned a name this day. I nod, closing my eyes tightly as I consider how lucky we were. I stand and walk back to the human group, noting that their ward is now down. As I approach, I pause by several of our wounded to be sure that they will live. Thankfully we werewolves are resilient. Wounds that would slay a human or even a dragon twice over will slow us down, but it takes a great deal to kill us. Even so, several of our number will never rise. This prey was terrifically strong; it killed seven of our number, and came very close to killing nine more. It would have succeeded in killing those last had they kept fighting and not retreated from battle when they did. As I approach the three humans, I shift down into my own human form once

Kerschner 9 again, since humans are most comfortable when dealing with those who at least appear to be human. Hello again, I say. I thank you for your aid. We came very close to losing the bulk of our pack in that fight, and your magic helped to prevent that loss. Kithara bows her head. I am pleased that we were able to help. She turns to Beth with an angry look. But that was still reckless! You lost control of the spell and helped the mutant! Beth looks at Kithara in defiance. Yes, but my second spell helped to save your life and the werewolves lives. Jenric would have died if I hadnt! Oh, dont mind me; Ill be fine with a stronger healing spell, Jenric says as he limps over, a minor healing spell having already stemmed the bleeding. Beth looks worriedly towards Jenric. I she starts to say, but her eyes roll up into her head and she collapses. Kithara catches her and Jenric moves to examine her. Jenric grunts. Shes over exerted herself with that second spell. Channeling chaos always takes a toll on the body, and shes not all that hardy of a girl. He continues to look over Beth, turning her head both ways and checking her pulse. I think shell be fine with some rest. We need to get moving again, but well need to keep a slower pace until she regains consciousness and you can heal my leg. Kithara taps a round tattoo on her left breast and lays her hand on Jenrics leg. The wound glows light blue and begins to knit together again, though it is obvious that it will take several days to be fully healed. I look at Beth and then at Jenric. We will stay with you until you are past the Madwood. We must sing our dead to rest. Many of us also need to recover and it will take some time for us to eat the prey, but we can still protect each other while we heal. I turn to face the remaining thirteen members of my pack; fourteen, once the cub chooses his name. But naming can wait; first we must honor the dead. Hear us, oh Luna! Seven of our kin have fallen in your service. We beseech you, Luna, to take them into your Silver embrace. Let them hunt with you across the sky! I direct my thoughts to my pack, the humans, and to Luna herself. As I finish, the pack and I all howl to Luna. It is a howl of loss, but also one of joy, for while our kin have fallen they live on in Lunas embrace, while we live to hunt another night. I walk back toward the preys remains. The cub stands proudly and without even a hint of fear. I shift into my war form and call out to the rest of the pack with my mind. Friends! Gather here so we may honor this werewolf, no longer a cub but a warrior blessed by Luna and proven in battle against a mighty foe. What name do you choose to be known by, warrior?

Kerschner 10 He answers immediately, since he has thought of this day for many months and reached his decision long before tonight. I am Morthan! he says. Darthra, his mother, nods her approval, her eyes shining forth with pride at her sons achievement. I turn about to look at each pack mate in turn who is still able to stand. Let Morthan be known as a member of this pack, and let us declare it to Luna! We all howl to Luna, heralding Morthans name and entry into adulthood. We finish our howl and then we feast upon our fallen foe. The taste of its meat changes as I tear into it, shifting slowly as the last remnants of chaos still flow through its flesh. We gorge ourselves, and even our wounded manage to hobble over and eat their fill. Mundane wolves can go for more than two weeks without eating. Werewolves can go for more than a month, and a meal this size could last us the rest of the season. I notice that Kithara has turned away from our bloody spectacle to tend to Jenric and Beth. Well, humans are always squeamish around blood. It takes us several days to finish eating the prey, but we walk with the humans during this time and bring the many pieces of the carcass with us as we walk.

Crouch 0

Crouch 1 The Ferryman Makenzi Crouch

Astrid opened her eyes and stared up into the blackness of her cabin. Somethings wrong, she thought. Unfastening the straps holding her in her bunk, she pushed off the bulkhead and floated to the comm panel. A small light flashed frantically at her; suppressing a yawn, she stabbed at a button with her thumb. The comm squawked, and she waited for the static to clear before speaking. Beletari. Youre needed in the ER, Commander. On my way, she said and released the button with another squeal of static. Pulling a clean jumpsuit from her locker, she wriggled into it and headed out into the corridor. Though some complained about the lack of gravity aboard the freighter, Astrid liked it. She found she could get around faster in zero-g than in Earth-standard gravity. Handholds lined the walls in every corridor, and it was only a matter of moments to propel herself from one part of the ship to another. It was as close to flying as the human race would ever come. She soared down the corridor and jerked to a halt outside the engine room. Punching in her code, she waited impatiently for the doors to hiss open. Some of the crew liked to refer to the engine room as the ER. Many of them were junkies of old-style Earth entertainment, and the name had caught on. Astrid somersaulted through the door and braced herself against a railing overlooking the engines. The twin spirals glowed green, pulsing comfortingly. The senior crewman below spotted her and spared a moment for a quick wave before disappearing beneath the engines. A slight frown on her face, the commander dropped down to the main level and swung over to the spirals. This close, the hum of the engines became a roar, and she had to shout to be heard. She nudged the crewmans foot, and when he slid out from underneath the huge coils, holding on to keep from drifting upward, she said, Whyd you call me down, Michaels? Youd better take a look, Commander, he replied. Somethings hinky with the primary stabilisers. Astrid awkwardly slithered into the workspace beside Michaels and peered up into the engine core. Give me your torch, she said, holding out a hand. Michaels handed her the light, and she shone the beam up into the wiring, squinting. The engines running fine?

Crouch 2 Bit of a shudder when we jumped to hyperspeed, but the secondaries are handling the extra strain. So thats what woke me up. Astrid held the torch between her teeth as she reached up into the circuitry and wiggled some wires. After a moment she slid out from beneath the engines and pulled herself upright. She wiped the torch on her jumpsuit and handed it back to Michaels, saying, Theres some loose wiring way up in there. Probably got knocked loose in that last storm we went through. Might take awhile, but it shouldnt be too hard to fix, now that we know its there. Get it done before that shudder becomes a problem; we cant afford to lose the engines before we arrive planetside. Commander? Astrid turned to see a junior crewman. What is it, Solari? Captain wants you on the command deck, sir. Thanks, she said, pushing off the ER floor and shooting upward towards the railing. Fix that shudder, she shouted over her shoulder. * Have you ever been out this way, Beletari? Cant say that I have, sir. Astrid released the handgrip she had been using to keep herself up against the wall and flexed her fingers. The motion set her drifting towards the middle of the room, and she quickly reclaimed her grip on the handle. Captain Jenkins looked down at the starmap pinned to his desk. It seems no one has. Makes rescue ops difficult when no ones familiar with the planet. He ran his fingers through his short grey hair and sighed. The Skinners have left this area alone until recently, but I doubt everyone else has. Im sure I dont have to tell you that growing up on the borderlands can be a bitch. He flipped a switch on the bulkhead. Studying the readout, he said, Were still several hours away from planetfall. Id like to increase speed to four point five Id recommend against that, sir, Astrid said quickly. Theres a shudder in the primary stabilisers and until Michaels has it fixed, Id rather we didnt bump our speed up any faster than it is now. The secondaries can deal with the problem right now, but I dont like to think what will happen if we suddenly streak faster. That shudder may turn into something far uglier. Jenkins tapped a finger against the switch, a pensive look on his face. How soon will the problem be corrected? She hesitated. Not sure, sir. He shook his head. Well have to risk a slight increase, at least. Sir

Crouch 3 Thank you for your report, Commander. He pushed back to his desk and unpinned the starmap. Rolling it up, he glanced up and added, I appreciate your diligence, Beletari, but you look exhausted. You been getting much sleep? Enough, sir. Go get some rest. I dont need you until we land, but I will need you then. But sir He tucked the starmap back into its compartment. Now, Commander. Irritated, Astrid returned to her cabin and strapped herself back into bed. The last thing she felt before drifting off to sleep was the shudder of the engines. * She was awakened by a low, persistent beeping. When she opened her eyes, the light on the comm was blinking at her. Something felt different, but she couldnt quite pinpoint what it was, so she rolled out of bed and went to the wall. Beletari, she said, her mouth dry from sleep. Well be entering orbit in ten, Commander. Captain wants you on the command deck. Roger. Astrid released the button and opened a compartment below her bunk. She pulled out a clear tube and shook it once before opening the top and drinking from it. Liquids were always difficult in zero-g. She knew she probably shouldnt waste the water when she didnt really need it; the freighter wasnt due to stop and restock for weeks. Feeling guilty, she closed the tube and tucked it back into the compartment. Even on a borderlands planet like Zeta Circini, where

she had grown up, water had been plentiful; though she had been in space for years, she still wasnt used to the idea of water as a precious resource. As she pulled herself onto the command deck, Jenkins glanced up at her and motioned at the chair beside him. She secured herself in the chair, pulling the belts tight. Coming up on Cerberus, announced Crewman Edel at Nav. ETA five minutes. He paused and looked back at Jenkins. We going into orbit, Captain? Afraid not, Crewman. Were landing. Yes, sir. Ever landed a freighter before? Only in simulations, sir. Youll be fine. Mayer, we have any idea whats down there? At Comm, Crewman Mayer shook her head. The lower atmosphere is a mess, sir. Its interfering with our scans, but from whats coming through it looks like theyve taken a beating.

Crouch 4 Open a channel to the rest of the ship, Jenkins ordered. Yes, sir, said Mayer. Whenever youre ready, sir. Unconsciously, Jenkins straightened in his seat, prevented from floating upward from the belts over his chest and across his lap. His fingers absently played with one of the buckles as he spoke. All crew, this is Jenkins. Momentarily, well start our descent through Cerberuss atmosphere. Secure your stations and yourselves for planetary descent. Jenkins out. Mayer cut the channel and tugged her straps tighter. Leaning back in his chair, Jenkins turned his head to look at Astrid. Belt up, Commander. Its going to be a bumpy ride. * I hate bumpy rides, Astrid thought furiously fifteen minutes later, clinging to the arms of her chair with all her might. As the boxy freighter plummeted through Cerberuss atmosphere, the gravity on board began to increase. The added weight only made the jolting worse. Despite being strapped in as tightly as was possible, she still felt as though she were being thrown about far too much. I joined up to fly through space, not turn into a giant bruise. Her head aching, she forced bile down when it threatened to rise up in her throat; she had seen crewmen lose it on planetfall before, and it was never a pretty sight. This is Jenkins. The captains voice filled the command deck, jumping slightly from turbulence, and Astrid wondered when hed asked Comm to open the channel. Well be touching down in a moment. Brace yourselves. Jenkins out. As the freighter began to slow and grind out its landing gear, Astrid glanced down and realised she had a bigger problem than turbulence: the edges of her belt were fraying. Oh, shit, I thought I put in a repair order for that. The ship touched down, sending shock waves rippling through the decks. At the impact, her belt gave way and she catapulted over Nav, hitting the forward bulkhead and sliding to the floor as the ship slowly stilled. Damn gravity, she thought angrily, and then groaned and sat up. Commander? Opening her eyes, she saw Edel standing over her. Yes? she managed, one hand to her throbbing head. You alright, sir? She did a mental check before starting to get up. Think so. Let me help you, sir, Edel said hastily, extending a hand. The rest of the crew on the command deck were getting to their feet, moving slowly, unaccustomed to the gravity. Only three-fourths Earth-normal, Astrid thought as she took an

Crouch 5 awkward step forward. All of those hours in the gym had barely prepared her for the discomfort of walking. Alright there, Commander? Jenkinss voice broke into her thoughts and she quickly straightened. Yes, sorry, sir. Hows it look outside, Mayer? Uh Mayer stabbed several buttons, a trickle of blood dribbling down her face from a cut over her eyebrow. Radiations within tolerable levels, sir. Looks like they got hit about a week ago. Theres not much left standing. Whats the nearest city? Looks like Hades, sir, Edel called. Styx is about the same distance in the opposite direction, from what I can tell. Its pretty dark out there, sir. Blimey, someone was having a laugh with their mythology, Astrid said. I hope the names arent a warning. Anyone left alive out there? Mayer shook her head. The scanner broke two days ago, Commander. No ones had time to fix it yet. Theres no way to tell. Well just have to go out. Beletari, come here. Jenkins pulled a piece of holo-paper from his jumpsuit and unfolded it, beckoning Astrid to join him. She moved to his side and watched as the map cycled through the main cities on Cerberus. I want you to take a team and head to Styx, see if you can find any survivors. Ill take a team to Hades. If you find anyone, bring them back here. The Lady Christina was supposed to get here yesterday, but we havent heard from them, so Im assuming they got hit on their way. He refolded the holo-map and handed it to his second in command. Until we hear otherwise, well operate as though the Christina isnt coming. Once were done here, well move on to the next city, and keep moving until weve covered the whole planet. Looking up, he said, Edel, Mayer, stay put. I need you here in case the Skinners come back. Edels head shot up. Comecome back, sir? Surely they wouldnt come back? Theres nothing left. Who knows why the Skinners do what they do? Jenkins looked tired. But I for one would rather not be around if they do decide to come back, so pay attention and be ready to jump planet and streak at a moments notice. Commander. Astrid followed Jenkins off the command deck and down the hall. She wished Jenkins hadnt brought up the possibility that a raiding party might return. Zeta Circini had been hit a few times when she was younger, before anyone really knew anything about the Skinners. The border

Crouch 6 planets were used to getting hit. Pirates and smugglers and refugees from other planets came and went and most of the time no one thought anything of it. And then the Skinners came. She remembered walking home from school when she was twelve and seeing the smoke rising from the settlement, remembered the green- and grey-clad man turning to face her as she scrabbled for the energy weapon at her hip that hadnt worked for weeks but that her mother had insisted she carry, hoping to deter any slave traders or pirates or anyone else she might encounter. Everyone over eight knew how to use an energy weapon. No one protected you on the border planets. The man had looked down at her from a height almost twice hers and had laughed, or at least she had assumed it was a laugh, though it was hard to tell. It was high-pitched and bubbly, but it whistled at the same time, and the sound was muffled in any case by the helmet that concealed his face, which was painted in terrifying swirls of green and grey and black and made Astrid think of fear. And when he stopped laughing and took off his helmet, she had wished he or ithad left it on, because his face frightened her more than his helmet. His face looked like it was made of dry, yellowed bone, with jagged pieces in places as though bits had been snapped off, and there were strips of what looked like raw flesh hanging off the bone. He had no nose that she could see, and his eyes were positioned far to the sides of his head, like a horses. He stood there with his helmet beneath his arm and stared down at her, and after what had seemed like an eternity to Astrid, he walked past her and away with a curious stride, and it was not until he had faded away into the distance that she realised that his knees bent the wrong way. She had run to the settlement, only to find it utterly destroyed. Her parents, everyone she knew, were dead, their bones crushed, their skin shredded from their bodies. It wasnt until much later that she put reports of the Skinners activities together with her own memories and realised that the flesh on the face of the creature she had met could very well have belonged to her parents. The Skinners had never come back to Zeta Circini. It was the early years of the war, and Astrid could only assume that their strength had not been great enough, or the planet was not important enough to them, for them to destroy the planet. But in all her life, there had never been anyone she had hated so much as the Skinnersand there had never been anyone she had been so afraid of. Astrid shook herself out of her memories and discovered that they had reached the skimmerhold. Several crewmen were already unbuckling the straps that held the skimmers in place and were moving them out of the way. The skimmers, despite their names, were squat, ugly vehicles, much like the freighter that housed them. Their battered hulls had once been white, long before she had been born, but they were old and banged up now and were mostly the colour of the

Crouch 7 metal beneath the paint, with streaks of black from fire fights and the remnants of the original paint job. Beletari. Jenkins motioned his first officer over. Take the second skimmer and a few men. Let me know if you find anything. Astrid nodded. Pointing at several of the crewmen, she headed towards the skimmer. Settling into the co-pilots seat, she pulled out the holo-map and opened it as Crewman Moretti sat down next to her. You better know how to fly this heap of junk, Astrid said. Grew up flying these babies, Moretti replied, flicking switches. The skimmer hummed to life. Yalls in safe hands while Morettis at the wheel. Astrid glanced behind her to see that the other three members of the team had climbed on board and were closing the hatch behind them. She flipped a control. Captain, Beletari. Were ready to go. Godspeed, Commander, Jenkins said, his voice tinny. Astrid nodded to Moretti. Take us out, Crewman. Trusting in her pilots skill, Astrid returned her attention to the map, which was still scrolling through Cerberuss main cities, and said clearly, Styx. The map purred in her hands, and then a picture of the city of Styx slotted into place in front of her. She studied it for a moment and then tapped the south wall. The image rose up off the map and revolved slowly in front of her, giving her the layout of the city before its destruction. Holy shit, Anderson breathed from behind her. Astrid looked up from the map and out the window of the skimmer. The lights on the skimmer illuminated the surface of the planet below them, and the team could see that the ground had been blasted. Scorched grooves ran across the earth like giant tire tracks, and the skimmer easily followed them to the city. As they neared Styx, they could see that little remained of the city itself. Here and there a wall still stood, thrusting skyward like gravestones, marking the site where the dead lay unburied. Most of the city had been reduced to rubble, the occasional live wire still sparking, the odd fire still burning. Everything was grey with ash. Moretti landed the skimmer inside the collapsed south wall and shut down the engine. In the silence that followed, Astrid gathered her supplies and slung the bag over her shoulder. Come on, then, she said, struggling with the release to the hatch. I cant very well do this on my own.

Crouch 8 Crewman Anderson, the speaker of profanities, quietly rose and helped her get the hatch open, and then followed her out into the city. Astrid switched on a torch and shone it in front of her, then swung it skyward as the silence was broken by some kind of birds flocking above, their dark wings blurring against a grey sky. Their cries echoed off the stone and polystyrene and metal piled high around the city, the only sounds other than the crunching as the crew stepped into what looked as though it might have been a courtyard, a muddy stream flowing through it. The River Styx, someone cracked, and fell quiet again as the light from their torch glanced off a body slumped nearby on a set of steps, one arm still limply hooked through the balustrades. Astrid crossed to the stairs and crouched down; this close she could see that the body was covered with a fine dusting of grey. She scanned the body, shook her scanner, tried again, and finally pulled on gloves, holding her torch between her teeth. Gingerly, she reached out to touch the bodyand quickly recoiled. Shaking her head, she returned to the others, who stood huddled together by the back of the skimmer. Well, she said, the scanners not working, but it shouldnt be too hard to figure out whos dead. If the infrared scanners are working you should be able to find the hotspots pretty quickly. She hesitated. If theyre not, you may have to check each body you find, and be warned: the ash makes it difficult to see at first, but the dead ones are skin-stripped. Anderson gagged, and Astrid waited until he had recovered before continuing. Anderson, Lopez, head west, she said, pointing. Search using a grid pattern. Moretti, Reyes, go east. What about you, sir? asked Anderson. Astrid turned around and shone her beam straight ahead. Im headed north. * She hated rescue missions like this, the ones where everyone knew deep down that the planet was dead and that there was really no point. It was depressing and made her feel like the Skinners were winning, and for god knew what reason. No one knew why they killed; they just came, destroyed, and disappeared again. No one knew where they came from, or where they went. It was sometime the next morning when she found herself on the other side of the city by the north gate, in what she thought might have once been a garden. A cracked, stained fountain occupied the centre of the area, feebly spitting forth a few drops of murky water. A charred tree drooped over the fountain, the rasping noise its skeletal grey branches made as they brushed against the stone rim raising the hair on the back of her neck. Tucking her torch beneath her arm, she pulled her radio out of her pocket and clicked it on. Anderson, Lopez, you guys find anything?

Crouch 9 Lot of skinless corpses, Commander. Not much worth finding. You? Yeah, ditto. She flicked a switch. Moretti? How you and Reyes doing? Were just about done. Hows yall doing, Commander? I think weve about combed Styx for all shes worth, she said. Im calling it. Meet back at She stopped, her attention caught by movement at the far end of the clearing, on the edge of the pool of light cast by her torch. Commander? Moretti, go ahead and head back to the skimmer and tell Anderson and Lopez to do the same. I think I may have found something. Need anelp? The radio crackled and sparked, and she swore. Moretti? Moretti? She jammed her finger against the switch. Anderson? Lopez? Anyone? Dammit. She shoved the useless radio into her bag and turned to look across at the north gate again, wondering if she had imagined the movement. Probably one of those damn birds, she muttered, and set out towards the gate, swinging her torch back and forth. Halfway there, she spotted the child. The eyes caught her attention first, big and round in a grey face, and gleaming yellow in the light. The child was huddled behind a fallen piece of plastic sheeting, long fingers wrapped around the edge as she stared out at Astrid. Her ribs showed through her skin as she breathed, and now that Astrid saw someone with their skin still intact she could see that it wasnt just the ash that made these people look grey: their skin was grey, almost translucent. Astrid could make out the shapes of organs beneath the skin. Afraid of frightening the child, Astrid approached slowly, her empty hands outstretched. The childs head tilted abruptly to the side and her eyes widened further, something that Astrid would not have believed was possible. The way the child moved her head reminded Astrid of a lizard. Hi, Astrid said, and then tapped her chest. Astrid. Im Astrid. The childs head tilted the opposite way, and her eyes flashed back and forth, open so wide that they looked as though they might pop out of her head. Astrid, she said after a moment. Given name, from the Old Norse, comprised of the elements ss, meaning a god, and frr, meaning beautiful. She stopped speaking, and her lip trembled. You are indeed very beautiful, Astrid, but I do not believe you are a god. Her fingers tightened against the plastic sheeting. And were you a god, it would not matter. Even a god could not repair this world.

Crouch 10 Astrid, who had listened to the alien childs recitation with an open mouth, swallowed and said, Im so sorry, I didnt realise you would be able to speak English. This is understandable, the child said. My people She choked slightly, and her ribs pressed rapidly against her skin as her breathing quickened. We find things in the mind. I speak your language because you speak it. It is very simple. Her big eyes grew even larger, until they seemed to be all that made up her face. I am so sorry, Astrid, but I do not wish to remain here. I have been surrounded by the dead for days and I have been so frightened because I thought that no one would ever come. A drop of water fell to the ground, and it took Astrid some time to realise that the childs tears fell from her fingertips rather than from her eyes. I found my parents, after the Skinners had gone, and I have not been able to sleep since. Her head twitched sideways and she said, Have you come to take me away? Please say you have. I have been so frightened. Astrid held out her hand. Come with me. I have a skimmer, on the other side of the city, and well take you to our ship. The child hesitantly put her hand in Astrids, her fingers overlapping and wrapping back over her own hand, and let herself be drawn away from the plastic sheeting under which she had been hiding. Her head came up to Astrids shoulder. Whats your name? Astrid asked. The child seemed surprised. I do not have one, she said after a moment. Wewe do not receive names until we reach a certain age, among my people. She looked around, and Astrid could feel her trembling. I think I am all that is left of my people. Would you like to be called anything in particular? The child considered. Syn is a name of Old Norse origin, as is your name, she said after a moment. She was the goddess of watchfulness and truth. Astrid blinked. Had she known that? I believe I would very much like to have a name originating from the same culture as yours. I am very pleased to meet you, Syn, Astrid said gravely. Now, its a long way back to the skimmer, so wed best head out. Syn gripped Astrids hand more tightly in agreement, and the two set off back through the city. * You have a fascinating ship, Syn said some time later, after they had returned to the freighter. With little to do while they waited for Jenkinss return, Astrid had elected to give the child a tour.

Crouch 11 Shes a bit old, but shes a good ship, the commander said, patting a bulkhead and pausing outside the ER. Now, Syn, you should feel honoured, because Im about to let you into the engine room, and no one is ever allowed in there except the crew. Syns mouth split open in what Astrid assumed was a smile; like her eyes, her mouth was much too big for her face, and revealed two rows of sharp teeth. You are all being very nice to me, she said as the doors to the ER hissed open. None of you have ever met any of my people before, yet you treat me as though you know me. Astrid walked into the ER after her thin charge. My people can often be a compassionate race, especially when there are children involved, she replied, and then added quietly, And there are some of us who understand your loss. You have lost someone to the Skinners? Syn asked, following the first officer down the stairs towards the engines. Is this why you have come into space? To find them and hunt them down? What? Oh. No, not exactly, Astrid said, distracted by the sight of Michaelss boots protruding from beneath the engine coils. She nudged him, and as she waited for him to emerge, explained, I lost my family, everyone I knew, but I came out here to escape the fear. In space there is always someplace to run. Planetside, youre trapped. Syns head tilted to the side and her eyes flickered back and forth. So you are still running? she inquired as Michaels hoisted himself to his feet. Im so sorry, Syn, just give me a minute, Astrid said, looking up at Michaels. She hated gravity. She was not a tall woman, and in space it didnt matter, because no matter how tall a person was, she could always be at their eye level. Planetside, she invariably felt short. Trying to keep the snap out of her voice and only partially succeeding, she said, Why the hell isnt that shudder fixed yet? Michaels shifted his weight uneasily. Sorry, Commander, but all that loose wiring wasnt the problem, and I havent figured it out yet. Dammit. She rubbed her forehead. I believe the power conduit in the third junction from the left is not properly aligned, Syn said, her head still tilted. This is likely the cause of this shudder, Astrid, but I do not believe that fixing it will help you. How could you possibly know that? Astrid demanded. And why not? The child smiled that ghastly smile again. Your ship is like a living creature, but you do not listen to it. I listen, so I may hear what is wrong. You have not answered my question.

Crouch 12 And you have not answered mine, the commander replied sharply. Why would fixing it not work? You seem to know a great deal, so if thats the problem, why cant we just fix it and have it done? Syns head angled the other way and her eyes widened. Astrid could see her heart pumping, in the region where a humans stomach would be. Tell me if you are still running from the Skinners, she said. Everyone runs from the Skinners in the end, Astrid replied irritably, and then was interrupted by a crewman before she could say anything else. Command deck is calling for you, sir, he said. Cant it wait? Said it was urgent, sir, the crewman replied, and shrugged. Sorry, sir. Astrid stalked to the bulkhead and stabbed a button on the comm panel. What is it? she asked, leaning against the wall with her head down. Sorry to disturb you, sir, said Edel, his voice crackling with static, but have you heard from Captain Jenkins at all? No, she replied, and checked the time. Has he not checked in? Edel hesitated. Hes missed the last three check-ins. Astrids head came up. Hes what? she said. Dammit. Edel, move the ship closer to Hades. Something may have gone wrong. Even if his radio just short-circuited like mine did, we should have heard from him by now. Ill take my team in and see if I can find them. Yes, sir. Releasing the button, Astrid realised that Syn was tapping the back of her other hand. What is it? she asked as she felt the freighter move beneath her. I wish to go with you. What for? She crouched so that her eyes were level with the childs. You realise that you will see more bodies, more of your people who have been murdered? I dont want to subject you to that. I can be of use to you, Syn said. I have spent much time in Hades. I am familiar with the territory, even if the city has been destroyed. Please allow me to help you, Astrid. You have been very kind to me. Astrid hesitated, but her desire to find her people quickly overrode her desire to protect the little alien. Very well, she said. Lets go. And dammit, Michaels, fix that stabiliser before the entire ship blows up!

Crouch 13 Syn followed as Astrid turned and strode out of the ER. It is too late for that, she murmured, and then scuttled to catch up with the commander. * Hades looked almost identical to Styx. The biggest difference was the ship that appeared to have crashed in the middle of the city, sometime after its destruction. Standing at the gates, Astrid trained her binoculars on the ship and focused on the name written along the side. What thethats the Lady Christina, she said, putting the binoculars down and turning back to her team. She clicked on her radio. Edel, when did we lose contact with the Christina? Uh The last message we received put them outside the Beta Scorpii system three days ago, en route to Cerberus. They were supposed to let us know when they arrived, and when we never heard, we assumed theyd been hit by the Skinners. I think we just found them, she said, lifting the binoculars again. Why didnt we pick them up? Moretti flapped a hand. Scanners, Commander. All on the fritz. They dont pick up nothing. Astrid bit her lip. Right. Well, I think its probably a pretty safe bet to assume that Jenkins and his team headed for the Christina; the chance of there being survivors from the crash is more likely than the chance of there being survivors from the burning of the planet. We go there. She looked down at Syn. You got any feelings about that? Syn gazed out at the city. There are many dead here, she said, sounding sad. It would be best to avoid them. My people do not like their dead disturbed. By the time they reached the Christina, Astrid was starting to doubt that Jenkins had come this way after all. There was no sign of any activity; the dust had not been disturbed, the corpses had not been touched. It didnt appear that anyone other than themselves had entered the city since its destruction. But Syn seemed to grow more and more confident the closer they grew to the ship, until she was striding out ahead of them. And then Astrid noticed something. Syns knees bent the wrong way. Astrid stumbled backwards, her eyes fixed on Syns legs, stunned that she hadnt noticed it before. The Skinner from her childhood flashed before her eyes, his backwards knees and his peculiar stride as he walked away from her clear in her mind. The little child walked in the same way. Swallowing, Astrid motioned for her team to stay put and called out, Syn? Can I ask you something?

Crouch 14 Of course you may, Syn said, stopping in front of the Christina and turning to face Astrid. What is it that you wish to know? Your peoplewho are they? Again, that smile. You are a clever woman, Astrid. What do you think? Youre the Skinners. This is their planet of origin, yes, Syn said, and Astrid frowned, wondering if the running lights from the Christina were casting odd shadows on the alien child. She looked different. Astrid took a step nearer. You dont look like the one I saw when I was twelve. You saw a fully-fledged warrior in his battle gear, Syn said quietly. Tears dripped from her long fingers, glinting. The Skinners were born of this world, but they were expelled from here long ago. And your people, all of the dead of this worldthe Skinners kill their own people? Syns eyes grew huge, and Astrid found herself walking towards her. I am not myself one of their kind, though I have taken their form. She hesitated, and then said, The Skinners are destroyers of worlds. They eat everything they find, and they will never stop. They were born out of the world of death and they are the only creatures to ever escape Cerberus. They are part death, and so they are the only creatures who are capable of coming and going from this place at will. Death is all they will ever be capable of creating. She reached out one of her long fingers and touched Astrids cheek, and Astrid realised with a shock that Syn had grown, for now she was taller than Astrid was. I am sorry, Astrid Beletari. You believed you had come to help, but I am afraid that you will never leave. I dont understand. You have braved the watchdog Cerberus, Syn murmured, and you have crossed the River Styx. She let her hand drop. Well, it is the planet Cerberus and the city Styx now, but as the human race has grown, so too have we. You have come to Hades in the end, and that is all that matters. These are just place names out of mythology, Astrid protested. Theyre not real. Syn, little Syn She hesitated, realising that she had to look up some distance to peer into Syns eyes. I think youre confusing mythology with reality. I think you know the truth, Syn replied gently, and have been denying it. Humans are very good at denial. I have seen it many times over the millennia. She tucked a strand of hair behind Astrids ear. Several days ago, en route to Caliban, she said, the primary stabilisers for

Crouch 15 your engines developed a problem that you could not fix, and that problem caused a shudder that overloaded your engines when your captain insisted upon increasing your speed. No, Astrid said, no, we werent headed to Caliban. We were headed here, to Cerberus, on a rescue mission, and I know that shudder isnt fixed yet, but the engines sure as hell havent overloaded. I believe if you think very hard, you will remember that this is not true, Syn said. Astrid shook her head violently. No. She felt a touch at her elbow and started. What? Commander, whats going on? Moretti asked anxiously. Its getting darker, and we lost contact with the ship awhile back. She glared at Syn. Well be leaving soon. Astrid, I am so sorry, Syn said, but you cannot leave. You know that you cannot leave, because you are dead. You are all dead, and your freighter brought you here. Cerberus will not let you leave. It is its purpose. She held out her hand. Your captain and the others, they have already gone before you, and once you have gone, I will ensure that your ship is ferried safely across. It is what I do. Who are you? Astrid asked, though she was afraid she already knew. I have gone by many names, Syn said. The one most fitting here, I believe, would be Charon. She looked up at the sky. I am sorry, Astrid, but it is time to go. The Skinners are returning. You can never leave this world, not the way you came into it, but the Skinners can come and go as they please, and even on this world there are things they may do to you that are worse than death. I do not think that you wish for them to find you. Astrid stared at Syn. The frail child had become something that she could not explain; Syn towered over her, a shadowy hand outstretched. Around them, the darkness pressed in, the city forgotten, and behind Syn Astrid could see the indistinct shape of a river where the Christina had been, could hear the muffled lap of waves against the shore. She couldnt remember when that had happened, or explain how it had happened. Somewhere behind her she could feel her team, feel their fear, and for the first time in many years she felt as lost and frightened as she had at twelve after the Skinners killed her parents. But this isnt Astrid stopped. This isnt how I wanted I know, Syn said. Shh. She reached out and gently opened Astrids mouth, and one small, circular tear dripped from her finger to sit on Astrids tongue. The Ferryman closed the little humans mouth and, tears dripping from shadowy fingers, gently pushed her forward into the dark.