The Rising Dawn

Chapter Six - Walking the Streets

Aono lay in the darkness, the rough blankets doing little to keep out the draught that whistled under the ill-fitting door. Sister lay beside him, her back curved to his chest, hot against his skin.

 Her breathing was heavy and warm. She smelt of milk and cheap perfume. The room was full of her, her smell and her looks and her talents and her mind. He could almost taste her dreams; they tasted of vanilla cream.

 One spot of light through the cracked shutters highlighted her in a few simple lines. The curve of nose to mouth…a curl of mousy hair…the arch of her neck…little lines of light against the darkness.

 Aono’s mind travelled down passageways, trying to take in all that had happened in the past few days. Fuya and the Raven…Execution Dock…the Council of Triumph…it all seemed like a game, pretending, like little children. They weren’t really going to try and change the world.

 But supposing they did? Supposing the mission at Execution Dock didn’t go horribly wrong? Supposing the alliance was finalised? Supposing they really had just declared war on the ruler?

 Aono imagined bursting into the factories and freeing the people chained to benches, bent over in poor light, eyes failing or the people hurrying amongst the dangerous machinery, in fear of their lives. He imagined them finding the sunlight again.

 He imagined them bringing food to the starving. He imagined them rescuing those who had nothing left to sell but themselves. He imagined them taking away privilege and demoting the rich. He imagined them changing tax laws and freeing innocent people.

  He imagined the food rolling in freely from the farms. He imagined dancing in the streets, and music, and lights. He imagined curfew being abolished. He imagined the ruler cowering in a cell, shuddering in the icy cold or scorching heat, subjected to all he subjected others to.

 It was a pleasant dream. He curled closer to Sister’s sleeping form, kissing her neck. On the strength of that dream, he could rest. But they had to get there first.

The streets were tense. Aono read them like a book. They were his book, after all. He knew every page, he’d underlined words, he’d battered the corners a little. He knew the feelings in the air, the stones beneath his feet. He knew it all.

 There was something odd about it, a certain undercurrent of tension. It was the alliance, most likely. People didn’t like it. People didn’t want enemies who had beaten and stabbed and robbed their own people now walking like friends on their streets.

 There was fresh graffiti on the wall. It was shallow, chipped into the stone by an inexpert hand. There was rarely paint going spare these days. Business was failing at the moment and even graffiti artists are forced to downgrade.

 You ignored the writing on the walls at your peril. When people had something to say, they wrote it on walls. If you spotted the patterns, you could avert a storm long before it ever came by.

M loves K…Li is a scag…Get out of here…

Amongst the misspellings and creative grammar, basic meanings could be discerned. Some things never changed. There was graffiti layering this wall so that if you removed the bricks, it would probably still stand. Some of it was from back before the ruler, even. It was all the same.

 There was nothing special added, just a message written in barely legible script about the precise sexuality of a person who apparently went by the name of Gop. Some things never changed.

 Aono walked on. He was headed for Execution Dock. Luo insisted on scouting every inch of the ground, checking for any weaknesses or pitfalls. Aono had volunteered. Nobody wanted to leave it up to just one gang to organise. It was too risky to trust the Raven’s people with the lives of others.