Young Writers Society

Morning slowly crept over the dark City but the light remained dim and the sky grey. It was ever so within the bounds of the massive walls that enclosed them. Mikhail didn’t much care now; the realisation he’d come to earlier, coupled with the misery of remembering all that had occurred, left him in a sullen mood. Why did all this have to happen to him? Only days ago he was living a normal life – as normal as his could be – safe within the protection of the regulated, controlled areas; safe with the Magisters. The same people he was sure would be hunting him.

Now he was stuck with a creature the likes of which he’d been taught to hate and fear since he could comprehend speech; a monster from the Underground. Mikhail sat up, groaning, his back aching in a thousand places. He could feel the self-pity rolling over him, but he did his best to stiffen his resolve. After all that was what a hero would do. Renault the Builder wouldn’t cower and hide, lost in misery, no, that great forefather would do something. But what? The simple answer to that question was that he didn’t know.

Mikhail was cold and tired. His body was hurting and on top of all that he was hungry. As if sensing his thoughts, his stomach rumbled its discontent. Mikhail could take a lot of things, but missing breakfast? Impossible. Mikhail stood up, preparing to charge into the other rooms and make his presence known. All thoughts fled as a shadow detached itself from a wall and moved forward into the light. The creature, Sunshine as he’d come to think of him, was even more menacing in the light – however dim – of day. It was amazing how much memory had diminished him in Mikhail’s mind but faced with him now, he shrank back onto the wall.

He thought he could see the creature’s eyes soften a bit. “Do not be afraid.”

Its voice was scratchy, but deep. Mikhail glanced up at the towering frame, the bulging muscles of grey flesh and pointed, yellowing teeth and couldn’t find a reason to obey.

“I don’t want to be.”

Moving slowly, so as not to alarm the boy, it sat down. Mikhail found he could breathe easier with the transition, even though the wild, black haired head still rose to the height of his chest.

“What is your name?”

He briefly considered lying, but thought better of it at the last moment. This might be his only chance to survive, now that he couldn’t go home. “Mikhail,” he said.

“Just Mikhail?”

Mikhail scowled. He was used to derision for his lack of a family name, but taking it from something not even human, after all that had happened, was another matter entirely. “Yes, just Mikhail! Sorry if I lack the proper pedigree to be speaking to you,” he said. He regretted the words even as they were leaving his mouth; he bit his tongue, cursing inwardly. He winced, waiting for his head to be bitten off, but the expected blow never came – in fact, it seemed amused.

“Ah,” its lips twitched, “Yes, I suppose I deserved that. I was simply curious. My name is – “

“Sunshine; I know.”

Tawny gold eyes narrowed. “Sunshine?”

Its voice betrayed nothing, despite the hard look in those eyes.

“That’s what the snake called you,” Mikhail added.

“I allow Sal that liberty only because of his mistress.” The threat went unsaid, that Mikhail had no such protection. “My name is Sunestraka.”

Mikhail paused for a moment. “Just Sunestraka?” he said, frowning.

Sunestraka threw his head back and barked a short, sharp laugh out. Mikhail felt himself smiling in turn. He actually found himself warming up to his situation – in fact, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had someone to just talk to.

Sunestraka eyed him, serious now. “There is a difference between having no name and not wanting to share it.”

They stared at each other for a moment and the silence was, if not totally comfortable, then at least much warmer then their first. It was broken by the large, ferocious roar of Mikhail’s stomach. He blushed, holding an arm across his front. Sunestraka’s eyebrows shot up.

“How remiss of me to not have offered you breakfast. Come,” he said, standing up to his full imposing height. He stalked off into the other room, muttering about hospitality and rusty manners. Mikhail trotted at his heels, happy that he was going to be fed. The next room was empty and the one following led into a short empty hallway at the end of which a giant, titanium door remained firmly shut. As they were walking, Mikhail spoke.

“I guess you don’t entertain much, huh.”

“Not at all,” Sunestraka said, not looking back. There was a wealth of loneliness and sadness behind that simple statement and it silenced Mikhail for a moment. It seemed he wasn’t the only one who’d been alone for too long a time. Perhaps that lay behind Sunestraka’s decision to let him live – could it really be as simple as that? After travelling through room after empty room in this twisting warren, Mikhail couldn’t restrain his curiosity any longer.

“Why is this place so empty? It hardly looks like you even live here.”

“I don’t.”

“Oh.” Mikhail frowned, contemplating that comment. As he was thinking they finally arrived in the kitchen. Or what amounted to a kitchen anyway. There was a stove and some cupboards but little else. A large, blackened circle filled with ashes and still glowing embers, dominated the room. There were still two table legs stacked against the wall, ready to be used as the rest of the wood had been. Sunestraka set about starting a healthy blaze while Mikhail just stared, dumbfounded.

“Why don’t you use the stove?” he said, walking over to the machine and flicking one of the knobs on to low. The whole thing began to shake and moan, steam issuing out of it in waves. After leaping back initially, Mikhail quickly turned the faulty contraption off but the hissing and trembling only got worse. He turned back to Sunestraka, fearful.

“That’s why,” he said, sitting before a cheerful blaze now.

“What’s wrong with it?”

“Possessed,” came the muffled reply. Sunestraka was chewing on a hunk of bread, eyeing the slowly subsiding stove.

Mikhail stepped away from it, vowing not to touch anything else. He approached the fire, before sitting down opposite Sunestraka. He was handed some bread and cheese to eat – the supplies coming from the cupboard nearest Sunestraka’s right elbow. There was a tripod sitting abreast the flames and on this a pan was placed. Some strangely shaped eggs were cracked open into it and began to cook.

“So if you don’t live here… why are we here?” It was casually said and as most of these things go, went unnoticed. It was amazing how quickly things turned from ‘I’ to ‘we’. Sunestraka’s golden eyes were locked on his, even brighter and more unusual then ever. It was a while before he finally spoke.

“After the raid last night, it would have been stupid and nigh on impossible to return to my home. It would have been under surveillance, at the very least.”

The eggs were soon done. Portions were doled out onto plates and they ate in silence. They were both reminded of the raid now, of their standing as traditional enemies. More, Mikhail was aware for the first time of the effect such raids had. Reports were always filtering in of the Council’s great and glorious eradication of monsters, of their successes and the protection of humanity. How much of it was true he wondered now.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

Sunestraka’s head snapped up. “What for?”

“For your home. For what happened last night.”

Sunestraka snorted. “It was hardly your fault. And I enjoyed the events of last night, to a great degree. Yes,” he said, noting Mikhail’s surprise, “I am no saint. I have done things that many of your people consider monstrous.” He stuffed some egg into his mouth.

Mikhail leaned back a little, taken aback by this information. “So why am I alive?” he asked softly. “I guess there was a reason they used me as bait. Have you killed children before?”

“No, they couldn’t have known I’d be in the area at the time. You were meant as general bait, not specifically for me. I can’t say why I saved you, only that it was done and such things happen with reason.”

“But now I’m here; you didn’t just save me, you took me.”

“I wasn’t thinking clearly,” Sunestraka growled, shaking his head. “I don’t know what I was expecting… It doesn’t matter now; your kind wouldn’t have welcomed you back in any case. They do not like to be reminded of failures. What’s more, they would have wondered why I’d let you live and you would not have been treated gently.” This was true, but it was clear something else was up, that there were feelings Sunestraka couldn’t express aloud.

They like murderers even less, Mikhail thought but said nothing. He could have argued further, but it was pointless. He didn’t really care why he’d been taken; only that he was happy that he had been. Now that the danger was past, the idea of staying here, of having an adventure, didn’t seem so bad after all. It wasn’t as if life at the boarding school had been so great, with the constant bullying and fear. After all, it wouldn’t have been long before someone extracted the truth from him and painfully at that.

“Your right, it doesn’t matter. I don’t want to go back.”

They shared a glance then and continued eating. He didn’t want to linger on the uncomfortable topic any longer than necessary. It was at that moment he realised he hadn’t asked the most obvious question of all. “Just what exactly are you, anyway?”

Sunestraka choked on his bread, hacking and coughing until it settled down his throat. “Around here, boy, that is considered rude to say the least.”

“Oh… sorry,” he said. “Why?”

Sunestraka sighed. If he’d ever thought that it would be nice for company or that silence was suffocating, he vowed to appreciate it more.

“Will you never stop questioning?”

“Hey,” Mikhail said, hurt. “I’m just curious. It’s a human trait.”

“It’s an annoying trait.”

Sunestraka got up, leaving Mikhail and his infernal questions behind him as he went to the sink to wash his hands. The sound of some metal clinking attracted Mikhail’s attention and he peeked around his brooding friend’s back to see the source. It was, he noted with some astonishment, Sunestraka’s nails – he’d taken them off to clean them of blood. Without the adornment, Mikhail could see that Sunestraka’s hands were in fact, perfectly formed just like his. He pointed this out.

“Yes, they are small, but effective weapons,” Sunestraka said. “The only ones I had last night, unfortunately. The rest are at home; at some stage, we will have to retrieve them.”

As he spoke, he shrugged off his trench coat, let it fall to the floor. His massive torso was revealed in all its glory – one side dominated by the dark swirls of tribal tattoos and the other with the marks and scars of mortal combat. Without another word he padded off with cat-like quiet, into another room. Mikhail got up to follow, but was stopped.

“No – at least while I bathe, I will be free of your questions.”

“Oh, sorry,” he said, sitting back down. Mikhail was surprised at Sunestraka’s cleanliness, his own body was he noted, quite dirty. He could only imagine what he looked like but that was just one of the extra benefits of being on his own now. He smiled and stretched. It wasn’t long before he was extremely bored, however, and began poking the stove for fun. He stopped very quickly when one of the knobs flew off and smacked him in the head. He sighed, getting up. He might as well do some exploring, he thought.

Even this, he found, failed to alleviate the boredom. There was room after empty room, with so much space he began to wonder just how many people had lived here and what had happened to them. That thought gave him pause as he considered that perhaps Sunestraka had happened to them. Eventually he came to a set of dilapidated looking stairs, all lined and broken with age. Now here was a challenge! He put one delicate, booted foot on the top of the first stair, wincing as it groaned lightly. Mikhail took his boots off, placing them to one side before taking a few steps backward.

“One… two… three!” He shot off, leaping up the stairs, his light frame barely touching the wooden platforms. Stumbling on the last step, he ended up sprawled on the second floor, out of breath but smiling. Mikhail got up, doing a little victory dance. “Ha-ha, evil stairs! Take that – you cannot defeat me!” he said, springing about. This floor, unlike the first maze of rooms and functions, was completely bereft of, well, anything. A large wooden platform extended the length of the room; this must have been a hall, he thought. All the windows on the opposite side of the room were boarded up. He tiptoed forward, not knowing why, but feeling the need to be quiet. All alone in this vast emptiness, he found himself suddenly thinking of the Magister he’d inadvertently killed.

That man’s face was never far from his thoughts, the strong, barely bearded jaw and light blonde hair – his desperation and fear still seared even now. Somewhat more sombre now, he continued onward to the windows. He just wanted a good look at his surroundings, just one. He carefully lifted one of the looser boards and stared out. Buildings as far as the eye could see, spread out into the distance, until they were lost in a haze. He was even deeper in the Outskirts then he’d feared – that area just one step above the Underground, of miscreants, thieves and evil men. The City itself didn’t truly begin until you reached the inner wall, a smaller circular hub within the more giant, massive oval. The spires, towers and great buildings could be seen from here but not very well. His view had been better during the night.

Mikhail couldn’t help feel a renewed sense of helplessness, of insignificance. His eyes roved over and around the half-collapsed buildings around him before he saw a flicker of movement in his peripheral vision. He turned briefly, glancing down, straight into the eyes of another. Mikhail felt a mild shock run through him and the hairs on the nape of his neck stood up as he looked at that hungry, feral figure. He jerked back, letting the board shut out the world once more. No longer feeling adventurous, he made a speedy return journey to the kitchen, just as Sunestraka was coming back.

“Ah, there you are,” he said, giving him a quick one over. “What were you doing?”

“Oh, nothing. Just exploring.”

Mikhail couldn’t say why he didn’t mention the feral man who’d seen him, only that the fear and adrenaline was still rushing through his body and more, he wasn’t sure what Sunestraka’s reaction would be.

“Somehow, your even dirtier then before,” Sunestraka made a noise of disgust. “My sinuses can only take so much; you must bathe and soon.”

Mikhail’s face fell – it seemed no matter where he was, someone would force him to shower.

“I don’t see why,” he muttered sullenly. “It’s not like we’re going anywhere.”

“Actually, we are.”

“What?” This was unexpected, but not unwelcome. Mikhail wasn’t sure which he’d prefer – the outside world, full of danger and enemies or an empty, boring warren with a possessed, belligerent stove.

“Did you not wonder why Sal was here last night? There was no way, Shai’lan – powerful though she is – could have known of you so quickly. No, he was here to issue a summoning. There is to be a Meet. The first in a generation.” The way his eyes gleamed at that showed Mikhail that this was obviously something of importance.

“A meeting? For who?”

“Why, the denizens of the Underground of course.”