Wattys shortlist 2021. One morning the sun rises a few hours early, striking levitating skyscrapers in Soliara ahead of schedule. People in the streets stop to look up at the sky and then down at their watches. Most of them, puzzled but disbelieving...
"Don't move," said Leander. Transformed by the blizzard, the roof of Potestas Tower where they had saved Ilan's life was more like a winter wilderness than the swanky party space of a downtown corporate headquarters.
For some reason Leander had come out here and waited, taking on snow, as if he knew Cristo would turn up eventually, maybe because he had the fate, destiny, the stars, the universe on his side.
Leander thought to himself about that. He took a deep breath of razor sharp winter air and looked down at the man on his knees in front of him. Cristo's knees must be getting cold, the thin pant legs frozen through.
Eight minutes ago Leander had come outside from the penthouse, walked to the middle of the rooftop patio and stood still there for eight minutes. Snow collected above his ankles. He waited, almost not remembering how he got there and not thinking about it too much. Like in a dream.
As if he were sleepwalking.
There were plenty of sources of light, that which flared pale fire out of the penthouse windows, bounced off a million snowflakes, that cold light from the crack of crescent moon fighting through nimbostratus clouds originating from the sun and paler in its reflection, that white hot glow that came from everything in Invernali at night, and even some starlight-filled spheres levitating outside to light the patio in case of an impromptu party.
It was bright out, it made him think of flood lights on a baseball field if the baseball field was a field of shiny blindingly reflective snow, it was as well-lit as it could be at night, but it was a changing, moving light from varied sources too, almost like highway light posts glowing into the car window at night that passed by in a succession of warm yellow then shadow, yellow then shadow, yellow you could follow, then shadow, but slower. And with an occasional flicker or twinkle from somewhere or other.
The only place the light didn't come from was the stars; starlight didn't make it through the nimbostratus.
It took the eyes time to adjust, and time to adapt to each change. And that wasn't even counting every time the falling snow and clouds above were accompanied by a fork of lightning branching one electric charge and then another in forks second by second, slowly crawling its branches one by one over the sky like a spider web or a tree branch only electric white fire. Out of place in the winter storm, impossible, but right in front of everyone's eyes, lighting up every shadow each time they flashed like a camera.
Leander had been watching the lights play on a blank patch of unbroken snow right when the thunderous crash like six cars colliding in a pileup exploded in his ears and a simultaneous peel of lightning that had to come first almost seemed to come after, and it lit up the pained face of Cristo where he had not been before, before he fell down on all fours. It felt as if he had been delivered straight to Leander, who was ready waiting with a sword in hand as if he knew how to use it.
The sword he had taken from a display case in the atrium as he came outside. Without really knowing why. Like in a dream. Now that he reflected, it did seem more useful than the knife Ilan had given him. Longer. Sharper.
Not that he knew how to use it. Against an unarmed opponent, however, it seemed simple: Stick him with the pointy end.
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