Aftermath

I wrote this in an hour or so and it gives a bit of a background for those who haven't read Partners and for those who have... well there is a little bit in there that reminds me of the bits that would show up in Partners and Sequel.

Raya, amazingly, doesn't lose control of his mental stability, he just gets a little cranky about it. Somehow I'm guessing that there isn't going to be much rain this night...

Read, Review and Enjoy.



They were shown to their room, Raya claiming that three separate ones would be too much of a bother. Water was brought and they were informed that dinner would be in an hour. Raya nodded his acceptance of this fact and waited until the door was closed behind the man before he turned to Tah.

“Find an excuse to stay in.”

“Cramps,” Tah muttered in response, “bad, bad cramps. If they question, get descriptive.”

The last bit she said to Durth and so the young man nodded his understanding. Whatever was going on, a few cramps would not be accepted as an excuse to miss dinner. Neither man nor woman offered Durth an explanation and so he went along with it. He washed last and by then the water was cold but any wash was a welcome one and he was more than happy to get rid of the grime of travel.

When it was time to go eat, Raya led the way and Durth bid farewell to Tah.

He found it oddly suspicious that Tah did not unpack the gear they would need over night nor did she unbind Shirn from the baby’s travelling contraption. If they were not going to spend the night, why accept the invitation inside at all?

Raya got them lost and turned around, somehow ending up by the wine cellar instead of the dinning room. The Cousin stopped outside the door and motioned for Durth to step up beside him. As soon as Durth was abreast to Raya he caught a whiff of something that was foul and familiar yet almost comforting. An everyday smell from back before the world had ended.

Durth couldn’t quite put his finger on what the smell was and Raya did not give him to dawdle, leading the way quickly back the way they came and into the dinning hall. As if he had been to the house before, as if he knew where he was going.

“Got lost,” Raya said, glancing at the dancing girl on a hastily built platform, “ended up almost in the kitchens before we realised and them somehow managed to make our way here straight off.”

“Too bad you got lost, but we did have a bit of entertainment while we waited,” one of the men sitting at the table murmured, grinning.

They were all men, all about the same age and all dressed in rags. The girl on the platform was better dressed. Raya had said that families lived together on the vineyards, that those families were well off. Perhaps the head of this household had been too prudent with his discipline, perhaps a million other things had gone wrong.

Or maybe Raya’s temper was fraying because he knew the girl and her family and these men had massacred the family and then had their way with the daughter.

Durth sat very carefully, not wanting to draw Raya’s attention to him. The group dined in silence, besides the noises of chewing with mouths open and grunting while reaching for more food. Even the servants of Past’s compound had had better manners while eating alone. Certainly there had been burping contests and rude words and gestures but everyone still ate cleanly, slowly and with their mouths shut.

After the meal the talk began and wine was brought out by a few younger boys dressed in the same rags as the men. Raya talked the part with the men and drank the wine, refilling often. Durth chose not to drink, citing the fact that he had to care for himself and Tah because…

“Her cramps are so bad and she’ll be pissy as it is, what with having to sleep on the floor so her blood doesn’t stain anything. Going to be hard enough to get her up in the morning, whining and snivelling.”

“Like women do,” one of the men guffawed, “is all in their heads, they act like that for attention, don’t they?”

Raya slammed his cup down on the table, “more wine.”

“More wine!” the men called as one.

The men drank so much that they were all but falling asleep at their chairs when Raya said that they had to call it a night. A few nods came in answer to Raya’s excuse and the pair left the dining hall. Raya walked straight and tall.

“You aren’t drunk?” Durth asked, hardly believing it.

“No, I stopped drinking several hours ago, pouring it on the floor instead and I’ve been having drinking contests since I was old enough to dare try. Drinking them under the table with watered down horse piss isn’t that hard.”

“We’re in a winery.”

“Yes,” Raya stopped at a place where the hall split in two before he took a side branch, “that doesn’t mean that the wine didn’t go bad from not being cared for. It takes a great deal to bring wine from the vine to the table and give it such a delightful flavour. Unfortunately I won’t be tasting good wine for several decades. Who knows how long before the barrels can be replaced to get the sour taste out of them.”

Durth was utterly confused as Raya pulled to a stop in front of the wine cellar door again. The Cousin opened the door and stepped inside, yanking a burning torch from its wall scone as Durth stepped in behind him and closed the door. Inside were six metal barrels.

“What the…”

“Oil, if I’m right,” Raya muttered, handing Durth the torch.

“We’re in a winery!” Durth protested.

“We are, but those men don’t own it. Our evening entertainment was the eldest daughter of Lord and Lady Illon.”

“Ill…on? Isn’t there a goddess named-”

“They made wine for the temples that belong to Ill. Blood wine, it was called, because of its colour and because it cost the everyone else about as much as a pint of blood does. For a sip. The vineyards cater to certain people. The temples are one and when you hurt a temple,” Raya looked over his shoulder at Durth, something dangerous flashing over the man’s face, “the gods hurt you.”

Durth suppressed a shudder. He watched as Raya pulled out the big hunting knife the Cousin always carried with him and pried open the first barrel. The smell got stronger and Durth finally recognised it. Gasoline. Nearly every car ran on gasoline at the end of the world and the smell of the gas had always been comforting to Durth.

Raya dipped the blade into the liquid and pulled it up, “not oil.”

“Gasoline,” Durth said quickly, “I recognise the smell.”

“Huh, where oh where did they get gasoline from,” Raya muttered, walking to the next barrel to pry it open as well.

“What are you doing?”

“We have to destroy it.”

“But the Aniege-”

“The Aniege?” Raya snapped at Durth, “are never to get their hands on this sort of product. They would waste their time on fanciful dreams of remaking the world the way it was. The people had more than enough time, more than enough chances to right themselves and they did not. So everything that they were, everything dangerous about their world must be destroyed. You don’t wonder how this escaped the destruction?”

“Well…”

“The very clothing on your back melted off of you but barrels of oil survived?”

Durth thought about it for a moment, “weren’t you a bit young at the time to recall that?”

“Perfect memory,” Raya growled, “Everything that has ever happened to me, I can remember. Unfortunately. I say destroy it, we destroy it.”

“But the only way to destroy this gasoline would be to light it on fire. If we dump it, it will destroy the ground.”

“If we burn it, it still will, just a smaller area,” Raya muttered, moving to the side of the cellar. Huge brewing barrels stood to either side. The Cousin turned the tap for one and let it run. Scattered about the cellar floor were flammable items. Straw and stools, lids to old barrels. A wine rack pressed up against the back wall, nearly empty. Raya adjusted dragged some of the debris to the front of the cellar and piled them before he worked his way to the last barrel. He pried it open and pushed the barrel over, spreading its contents across the stone floor. Raya repeated the motion for each barrel, being careful to step out of the way and avoiding the puddle seeping across the floor. He stepped onto the wooden steps beside Durth and motioned to the torch, “give me the torch.”

“Tah is sleeping, what about-”

“Tah was gone the moment we left the room,” Raya responded, “she’s back on the highway by now and heading east and north. We will catch up to her sometime tomorrow afternoon, give me the torch.”

Durth handed it over, “You’re a hero of the Aniege. Destroying what could very well be the best find this side of the end of the world.”

“Hero? I am no hero, Durth. Mik, now he was a hero.”

“Who is Mik?” the name tugged at Durth’s memory and then he recalled, “Ambassador to the Sidhe.”

“With his death the people had a chance to change who they were, what they were. To adapt and save themselves, to prove that they were deserving. Instead they let a man die for nothing and declared war against the Aniege.”

“Reports said that the Aniege shot him.”

“The gunman was a hired illegal immigrant who had a dark past and deserved a slow death,” Raya said, looking at Durth, “do you really think the Aniege would waste a useful body on killing the ambassador? They realised their mistake after they sent the death threat and forty-five members died over night of animal attacks. Someone else hired the gunman.

“And instead of directing the people towards change, instead of concentrating on the fact that Mik himself wanted the world to change. They focused on who did it to piss the people off enough for the people to call for war and blood.”

Raya threw the torch onto the debris pile, “they could have saved themselves and instead they only sealed their fates.”


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