The War of Elevens| Book 1 of the Space Thief Chronicles

Between| Cataclasi

Té Shezekia and Alex Arabia shared a word for catastrophe: Cataclasi. The two countries pronounced it differently—the i was long in Shezekian dialect—but they meant the exact same thing.

The sun was seen as a demon in both Té Shezekia and Arabilst-Ari because it beat its unforgiving rays on parched crops and refused to come out during Cold Season. One week out of every year, usually in late summer, the sun's heat was so intense that it was dubbed "The-Heat-Killer-Week," because simply walking outside caused instant death. Livestock was dried out, water ran scarce, spontaneous fires combusted in the barley fields right outside towns. Everyone in the East claimed the sun was a demon embodied as a celestial body sent to destroy humankind, and for this reason, rainy days were accepted with gratitude and overall joy in Té Shezekia and Arabilst-Ari alike. The Eastern hemisphere of the Shifter World had a saying: Demons come when the sun peeks out on a cloudy day.

So when the afternoon sun shoved the remnants of the morning storm away one morning, spilling gold and brightening up cities, everyone took deep breaths, shook their heads, and prayed to their rain god—Arabitsé in Té Shezekia, Arabees in Arabilst-Ari—to bring a nice thunderstorm later on.

Demons come when the sun peeks out on a cloudy day.

This saying that had been coaxed and coddled for thousands of years was destroyed within the span of a few days.

Shadows gathered in the sky about midafternoon, similar to the way they had during the first catastrophe of world history. At first, everyone thought they were rain clouds, so prayers of thanks to the rain god were uttered and lofty smiles crossed faces as people went on with their day-to-day lives.

But then electricity crackled, and it did not crackle across the sky like lightning. It rose from the ground to the sky, exploding from the middle of a historic cobblestone street in Té Shezekia and rising up like a brilliant skinny beacon to meet the black sky.

And then monsters emerged.

They were wild, crude things with tongues the size of arms and bodies so bloodied and mangled it was hard to tell what the creatures actually looked like. There were four of them in total, and when they emerged, Fae, Shifters, and Acids alike from the other four continents wrote letters to Té Shezekian and Arabilst-Arian government embassies telling tales of seven other monsters ravaging their home countries.

When the monsters swept through Té Shezekian cities, people ducked into their underground snow shelters and surfaced the next day to ruined crops, smashed roofs, and the silhouette of a giant wing or the chartreuse glow of hooded eyes flickering in the distance. The religious would then go to chapels, churches, priests, and Masters of the Gods, begging for peace. The Bloom embassy stationed in Té Shezekia argued about what to do. Nothing was accomplished. Children made up songs. Some families took off to go anywhere, everywhere, to find peace. "The beasts can't be everywhere at once," these families promised. "We'll find rest. We will."

They didn't. 

In the desert lands of Arabilst-Ari, the death count was higher. Unlike the mostly stable earth-and-wood houses in Té Shezekia, tents were the only form of protection between people and the beasts. Leather tents, fabric tents, plant tents...when a beast came through an Arabilst-Arian town, all the Arians could do was flee and pray the demon didn't kill them. Mass funerals were held every day, and the ancient catacombs from the days of the Lesser Gods were opened because graves couldn't be dug fast enough. Roads lined with bodies as a result. "We'll get them off the roads," Bloom Officials promised. "We will." 

They didn't. 

The sky blackened and didn't let up for weeks, and the Eastern hemisphere of the Shifter World scrambled beneath it.