In the Time of the Breaking New Directions in Scientifiction

Kralnetesis - (1) 'The Time of Storm', 'Time of the Breaking'. The time in the twenty-year Lunar orbital cycle when the moon passes closest to its planetary primary. (2) Also the extreme gravitational, electro-magnetic, and meteorological disturbances caused by this phenomenonThis is where fear tips over into terror...Something's happening. Something terrible. There'll be consequences. So much is sure. Berelia's age-flecked copper disc is tarnished with blemishes. The largest in a necklace of five suns chasing each other around the world, yet the least luminous, its diluted light quivers your reflection on the slur of tide, with wriggling spatters of blood. A sluggish river in a forgotten place, skulking mud-banks pock-marked with bird's arrow-trails, husky margins of wading reeds so tall their heads nod over with their own weight, hissing in the cool air as they're disturbed by deep currents.Uncrossably wide. Cold strikes up, so the hoarse rasps of breath that measure out the tick-tick of time, stay visible as faint clouds of ochre. Consequences. What began in bright hope has set up ripples of far-reaching effect. You're on a low brow where marram-grass surges about your knees, a pace ahead, it shelves abruptly into the foot-sucking mire separating you from the first river swirls. You work through it while re-grabbing breath, hunting escape options, for you - and for Dresaan.Not too far behind, the pincer-line is tightening. A hundred pursuers spaced within paces of each other, and remorselessly drawing in. Armed, silent but for their squelch and rustle tread, City hunters intent on retribution. They'll not be cheated. The life of this woman who's risked so much for you, depends on the next decision you make. Think hard. There's blood on your killer hands, a dull weakness attacking your legs, and fear hung on the stalk-end of nerves, cramping your gut. You've both come so far. So very far. It can't end like this. It can't. You turn, sweat on your forehead like bright beads of gleaming amber. 'Back. We must go back, the way we've come.'A dark smile poised between vulnerability and defiance. Yes, the expression in her almond eyes is aimed at you, but it spreads out to take on the world.You retrace hasty steps. A cluster of midges dance in furious formation. Irritably brushed aside, almost dematerialised by your passing. But note how they reform exactly once you've gone. As though we don't exist. As though we never existed. You smile without humour. The men of the city, they know. They won't forget you for generations to come. You have their stolen Direction Stones in your jerkin. All the while you're gloatingly, guiltily, conscious of their slight weight. The river skirts out of sight now, its wash barely disturbing the twilight. Only trees ahead, clawing hands fingering black against the sky. Surely there's a shale incline here, somewhere? Didn't we pass it some time ago? It leads to elevated shelter, an escape avenue towards the ring-mountains, and safety. For you both. Make sure your crouching stealth doesn't betray your fatigue, nor the tightness restricting your throat. You're one step ahead, or dead. Sleep can come later. Your movements must be purposeful, speeding you scrunching along the path your earlier flight cleaved through this wild waist-high weed.The scree. You've reached the scree. You begin scrambling up its steepness, an animal on all fours. Everything tensions. The air thin and bitingly cold. The towers of the Phantom City just fretting the distant horizon. Then you catch sight of your pursuers. And they catch sight of you...