(eng) Mark Hodder by A Red Sun Also Rises

Author:A Red Sun Also Rises [Rises, A Red Sun Also]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

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Time on Ptallaya is more subjective than on Earth and disconcerting in its effects. One might work and sleep, work and sleep, work and sleep again, look at the suns, and find they’ve apparently not moved at all—or embark on what feels like a short task only to discover, upon its completion, that the two orbs have visibly shifted and shadows have lengthened.

During the final stretch of the long Ptallayan day—I’d guess a month in Earthly terms but could be utterly wrong—the weather continued to worsen. A hot breeze started to blow from the land across the bay as if the Eyes of the Saviour, as they neared the horizon, were dragging all the air they’d heated after them. The quality of light around us gradually deepened to a rusty orange. The rains came more frequently, fell harder, and lasted longer.

New Yatsillat suffered. An alteration in the climate hadn’t been taken into account when the city was built. Various of its materials rapidly deteriorated as they were first battered by the ferocious downpours, then swiftly dried by the torrid winds, then hit by rain again. Buildings leaked. Roofs collapsed. Walls cracked. The new sewerage pipes overflowed and burst. A section of the eighth terrace—as it happens, the district where Crooked Blue Tower Barracks had been located—collapsed and slid onto the ninth level, burying part of the fishing village.

To make matters worse, the Working Class approached the required repairs with a complete lack of diligence, performing their work in a very slapdash manner, taking far too long about it, or, increasingly, failing to do anything at all.

Amid this erosion, the flu-like sickness spread through the city like wildfire. Those of the Workers who came down with it reverted to a near animal state. They divested themselves of their garments, gathered at the seafront, and refused to leave. Kata told us, “They think they are dying and await the call of Phenadoor.”

The Aristocracy fared a little better. They became weak and suffered spells of dizziness and amnesia, but were at least able to function.

Meanwhile, Colonel Spearjab made no progress with his investigation. The two surviving assailants hadn’t been treated by any of the Magicians, or, it appeared, seen by anyone else.

Whatever had motivated the attempt on Clarissa’s life remained a mystery.

“There’ve been no further moves made against you,” I noted, “and none against Yissil Froon or anyone else. I wonder what our mysterious enemy is up to?”

We were walking home. Clarissa had taken a break from her ongoing research to join me for lunch at our local restaurant—a meal marred by bad service and which ended prematurely due to the establishment’s front window suddenly falling in, scattering shards of glass across the entire dining area.

Rather than responding to my musing, my friend, who’d been somewhat preoccupied throughout the meal, suddenly looked around as if only just realising where she was.

“The sky is red!” she murmured. “It’s late! I didn’t realise.”

“The suns are setting,” I said. “You’ve been holed away in that

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