"To Sate A Thirsting God" by Panu Karjalainen

Olga squinted through the water, wanting to see the fish. Her lithe body was poised, makeshift spear in her hand, and the look of a huntress in her eye. She wanted to see blood. She was desperate to see blood.

Then, silver flashed in the deep tranquil of the pool. Olga thrust. The sharpened wood flew, and broke the pond. The silver of the fish became indistinct. Olga cried excitedly and pulled up her weapon. And a disappointment, again. The pool was calm, the fish was gone, and the spear was wet only with water. With a miffed sigh, she dropped the spear and sat down on a nearby rock.

Almost involuntarily her eyes drifted through the ruins to a spot where a lush tree sparkled among the time-gnawed walls. Her belly groaned. She closed her eyes determinedly and tried not to think of food, or the tree, or – there was nothing else to think of, really, on the ruined islet floating in the Void. Encased in a bubble of stability, with the purple howling sky vomited all around, it was a prison. There was not much to think of, there.

Above the rotten walls, like a warden watching the cells, stood the tower. Made of jade and yellowing bird-bone, its smooth, sensuous form glistened in the islet's self-contained light. It stood, calmly and insolently, in contrast with the shale green ruins crawling at its feet: a wicked star-of-the-earth on a worshipping mountain. The tower was the centre of the islet, it kept the ruins intact and the chaos at bay – it was the dictator, sleeping, certain that its subjects were enthralled. Olga saw all this painfully clearly, even through closed eyes.

The trace of defiant tension in her shoulders escaped. Olga bowed her head forlornly. Her spear, the one she had crafted from a bedpole without knowing anything about weapons, lay at her feet like a trusted pet cast aside. She was like that spear, in fact all the people of the ruined isle were: things used for the briefest time, then thrown away. The tower, gleaming in the bleak wind blowing from the depths of the Void, kept them there. They were used toys, too spent of their power to do anything.

Olga roamed away from the pond, and staggered across crumbling soft arcades. She went to the ends of the small islet, not far away, where the stonework ended abruptly. There was only static nothingness, a swathe of air before the shifting non-mass of the Void begun. Olga sat down on that edge where conventional existence stopped. She wished the bubble that kept the islet together would collapse, to let the chaos stream in unbidden and unravel the miserable spot of reality where they were stranded. Wishing such, though, was like wishing the whale-toothed tower would collapse. Unthinkable.

Then, vainly, because she had less than nothing left, Olga tried to recall him. The scent of him, the colour of his eyes, the quirk of his mouth, the barest sense of him, slim fingers caressing her, penetrating her skin, hurting her sweetly – making her feel beyond her senses. The Capricorn, the master of the tower. She summoned the name by which the man called himself, like a curse from the deepest part of her mind. Yet she could not remember anything about him past that. Only the name – and the knowledge that he had seduced her, taken from her the very feelings which had made her alive.

Olga stared into the Void, not seeing its jumble of colours. She was a ghost, powerless and without courage, kept within the Capricorn's wicked sphere. He took them, man or woman, beast or spirit, took them, gave them pleasure, and cast them away. Stripped and bare, left to the stale dreaming of the rock, the Capricorn's former consorts kept on living in their hazy torpor – and hoped he would one day take them back and love them again. Olga hoped, too, not because she thought it would really happen, but because it was the only hope she still had left.

Absorbed in her drowsy wondering, she failed to noticed how the Void outside the bubble contracted. The colours flickered, the shapes and elements, winds and chilly blasts, feather-wings, faces... all flickered momentarily to the same rhythm. The Void, primal chaos, receded as servants before a lord.

Two men rode out of the chaos. Hooves beat the air. The horses, grey-spotted and delicate, crossed the empty space like it was a meadow. Their long legs gained the islet, and the riders reined in their steeds. A flaxen-haired man in mail coat and greaves glanced at his companion and jerked his head at Olga's direction. She snapped out of her bemused reverie and looked hastily around for a hiding place.

Before she could gather her wandering wits, though, the riders were beside her. The armoured man spoke. "Who lords over this place?”

Olga shook her head in confusion at the rough, straightforward question; the other rider circled his horse around her, observing her gently. The fair-haired man in armour repeated the question, more audibly this time, as if Olga had problems with her hearing or was thick in the head. She shook her head again, mutely. Who were they?

As if sensing her confusion, the gentle rider dismounted and came to her. She wanted to bolt, to flee and to hide, but stood her ground like a frightened hedgehog. This man wore no armour. He was draped in wispy silk, his body appearing ghost-like, his face day-dreaming and beautiful. Olga smiled at him despite herself. The man smiled back. He had a very beautiful smile. Green eyes like shifting oceans dived deep into her.

"I would sleep," the man whispered to her, drowsily. "If you took us to the sward / I would reward you / with a pretty princess kiss." He had a strange quality to his voice, too, like he was about to start singing with every syllable. Something tiny, frightening, leapt inside Olga as she realised the man reminded her of the Capricorn – in all the good ways. Swallowing her rising terror, she nodded. The man smiled the dream-smile again, and took her hand. Not knowing what she was doing, Olga began leading the man deeper into the ruins, toward the ponds and the tree. She was dimly aware of the armoured man following on his horse.

There was no one around the ponds. Olga knew they were at the tree, that was where everyone spent their time anyway. Olga preferred the ponds. They were cool and deep, reasonably far from everything that was the Capricorn's – as much as anything could be far from the Capricorn on such a tiny islet. Like an automaton she showed the men where the water was, and where they could rest. Freezing water and hard stone.

The tree was the Capricorn's invention, too; a kind of last blessing for those he had discarded. Olga knew it for what it was, though, and it was more of a curse than anything else: providing endless bounty with the expense of will. It kept the hunger away, but stole the mind. Olga rather fished, but the fish wouldn't come to her. Eventually she knew she'd have to get back to the numbing fruit. She glared resentfully around her.

The gentle stranger caught Olga's eyes. He was removing the saddle from his horse, smiling at her all the time. The other man, in armour and crowned with icy gold, still sat on his horse, like the conqueror examining his new lands. Olga shivered. The armoured man sparked anger in her – he was so obviously strong, he bore his power and independency on his brow and mighty shoulders so carelessly. He didn't know what it was to lose that power.

Yet at the same time she was fascinated by the other, the gentle stranger. There was an air of apology about him, a sad fascination nestling in his black locks. Olga guessed it would be all too easy to love him, like it was the Capricorn; but there was no threat lying underneath that caring, almost feminine, bearing. She was surprised to find herself wanting to care for this gentle stranger, to draw him on her lap and lull him to sleep.

"Who is the lord in this place?"

Olga gave a start. The fair-haired rider repeated his question again, sounding intent on getting an answer. Olga cast her eyes down.

"The Capricorn," she whispered.

She saw the dream-eyed man lying down on the hard, level stone to take repose – the desire to cover him with a blanket washed momentarily over her – and then he closed his eyes and was asleep. Olga realised he was alone with the armoured man, now. She shot a glare at him, but turned meek in an instant as the man's chilly eyes met hers.

"Who is the Capricorn?"

"A... a seducer," Olga tried to explain. "Someone who takes... but doesn't... doesn't give..."

"Is he a godling? A majesty?"

The questions struck as meaningless to her. The imperious voice, the commanding presence – who was he? What did it matter? With horror Olga realised that these two, like everyone else on the isle, were already doomed. It was a wonder the seducer had not come already and had not taken them, stolen them to his tower where he would give them a moment of pleasure, then take away all they had had, all they were. With horror Olga realised she did not want the gentle stranger to experience that fate. She would rather die.

"I... I don't know!" she screamed. Feelings, hate for the armoured man and love for the other, wrestled on her face as she looked up at him. He returned a level stare. "You must flee! Go! Leave... somehow..."

"Oh? Why is that?"

Olga balled her fists. Rage swelled up in her – rage unlike what she had felt in a long time. The gold-haired man and his power! They deserved to be taken by the Capricorn! She wanted this man to be taken so that he would know what it was to lose. But she didn't want to see his companion harmed. And they were obviously brothers. The same kind of features, although they were so different in poise and bearing. With a sniff she turned away. The pond met her stare and reflected her trembling figure on its still waters.

A fish slipped in the depths just then, just to spite her. She sat down. What did it matter? The two strangers were just like everybody else on the isle. They would never leave. The Capricorn knew they were there. Gingerly she dipped her toe in the water. It was cold. She buried her face in her hands and let her feet sink in the pond. She was hungry. She should eat the fruit of the tree and just forget. What did it matter...

There was a clink of mail, and the sound of heavy boots on the stone. A horse snorted. Olga heard the armoured man walk to the edge of the pond. He picked up the spear Olga had made, she heard the wood scrape on the rocks. She imagined how he would weigh the weapon in his steel-clad hand, sneering at its shoddy make. She kept her face hidden, and thought ill of the man.

"Do you fish?"

The question sounded very stupid to Olga. She didn't want to answer. She made up her mind not to answer any questions the armoured man would ask her.

Water splashed. Olga screamed as cold drops were splattered on her skin. She looked. The pond trembled. The gold-haired man loomed over her, a small smile on his thin lips; the spear was in his hand, and a splendid silver fish was neatly speared on it. She ogled.

"It seems you haven't had luck with it, though," he said. He removed the fish and crushed its head on the stone with his heavy heel. Then he gave her the fish. She was so confused she didn't know what to do with it, so it just lay on her lap, maimed and bloody.

"Do you have a knife to gut it with? They are delicious when roasted gently over a fire."

Olga looked up into his eyes of glacier blue. His eyes told it: he was laughing. She nodded dumbly.

"The seducer took you, right? He takes everyone who come into his tiny reality, is that it? You worry for my brother and I for that? Don't worry, girl. Worry for yourself, if you have to worry for someone. Whatever this Capricorn did to you, you don't look very hale. Eat your fish, now."

Olga watched him go. He led his horse into the ruins, toward the tree and the tower, both cast with waiting vengeance against the Void's churning sky. Flaxen hair blazed momentarily among the shale green stone, then vanished. The clink of his mail and the clatter of the horse's hooves were too hollow a funerary march for him. Maybe he deserved it. Olga gripped her fish. It would be nice to eat properly again, though.

She didn't know if she had ever prepared a fish before, but hunger and determination drove her on. She removed the organs, rather clumsily, and sheared off the scaly skin. The flesh, pink and almost transparent, she speared on little sticks of wood she gathered from around. The gentle stranger slept in his nook of stone; Olga made her fire near him so that he would at least be a little warmed by it. As she slowly grilled her fish over the flames, she observed him. He slept so peacefully, even on the hard surface, unknowing of what would happen once the Capricorn would invite him to the tower.

The fish cooked nicely and tasted heavenly, though in her state she would have thought little pebbles tasted heavenly. She ate the fish to the last crumb. Afterwards she felt guilty. Maybe the sleeping man had not had a bite in a while. She should have awoken him to ask if he'd like some of the fish, or at least put some aside for him, for she didn't dare to disturb him. He was so beautiful as he slept, like he was watching into a whole another world through his sleeping eyes. Olga sat down beside her small fire, arms around her knees, and watched him.

Wasn't he far too beautiful to be caught by the Capricorn? Wasn't he like a baby, a little boy all alone at the mercy of the Void? Olga let out air from her lungs. It hardly mattered where a person came. Among the Capricorn's victims, there were many who had been powers. Now they were wretches. She stroked the sleeping man's silky hair gently, and then padded off. She wanted to see the moment when the Capricorn would capture his newest prize, the armoured man. It would be a cruel pleasure. It would also be a chance to see the Capricorn once again. Even though he had stolen all Olga had, her heart still wanted to love him, to hope that one day he'd arrive and close her in his arms again, and they would be together, forever. Olga stomped crossly along the ruined arcades.

Just as she had known all along, all the people of the islet were spending their time by the tree. The curious plant, the only green thing inside the bubble, spread its drooping branches over a triangular square. Red orbs, the sweet fruit of the tree, hung low suspended from fleshy threads like babies, conveniently reachable for human beings. Pale wasted creatures ambled underneath the gigantic tree, eating the fruit and looking as if they had never been alive.

Olga trod slowly among them. No one on the isle cared for anyone, so she didn't have to fear these men and women who with glazed eyes gorged on the fruit of the forgetful tree. One or two smiled at her as she passed, maybe in recognition, but more probably in delirious agony. She flinched away from them. Belly full of fish, she didn't want to think of the fruit and its thralls. She was only searching for the armoured man.

He was easily found. Sticking out like a lion among starving rats, he shone and burned. Olga observed him from afar. The man walked his horse among the people, bending now and then to converse with someone; he touched the fruit hanging close to the ground but ate none; he glanced at the mewling jade tower from time to time, visible not long from there, beyond shattered pieces of wall.

Olga waited, perched on the edges of the square like a vulture, wanting to see the Capricorn swoop down from his tower and seduce the man in armour, to bring him to his mail-clad knee. She didn't have to wait for long.

The bubble that encased the isle and kept it sage from the onslaught of the Void began throbbing. The people of the square raised their heads from the daze like miserable hounds smelling their master. And he descended from his throne. Olga couldn't help whimpering – she wanted the Capricorn to notice her – to love her – but couldn't even move a muscle. Peacock feathers like a halo streaking around him, riddled with the sphere of his merciless spikes, he came, naked, flesh like veined marble, long-armed, long-legged, face like a sun contemplating the worth of rising above the horizon.

The Capricorn landed straight upon the armoured man. Olga squinted. Her heart was bursting... it was always bursting when the Capricorn took someone else.

It required no words. The armoured man dropped the reins of his horse. The Capricorn's languorous arms locked in the steel-clad neck; the glorious morning head bent over the flaxen mane. She was overwhelmed by jealousy even as she felt a pang of pleasure at the sight of the armoured stranger brought down. It was so easy Olga wanted to cry. And in momets it was over. The Capricorn returned with the prize on his arms, like the receding herald of the storm that never came.

The men and women looked despairingly after him. Soon they slipped back to their withering half-state, nibbling at the fruits of forgettance. Olga shook herself like casting off an invisible blanket. Ruefully, but with eminent satisfaction, she returned to the ponds, the fire, the gentle, sleeping, blissfully unaware stranger.

She found her fire smouldering. The gentle stranger was still asleep, so Olga went to sit by him. She felt empty now. The armoured man was gone, and soon the Capricorn would come for this beautiful, frail creature as well. Although she hadn't thought herself capable of it anymore, she cried. She didn't really know what for, but she cried. Maybe it was for the emptiness. The two strangers had brought a little feeling into her perpetually drugged life, but it was sad feeling and had only served for her to realise her empty existence. Tears ran down her cheeks for a long time.

The fire was almost out when the stranger stirred. Olga was still crying. She tried to hastily dry up her eyes. The stranger got up, woke like a flower at dawn. Olga hiccuped. The instant the beautiful strange saw her, he was by her. Olga's hands were in his; his silky hair fell over her face, drying her tears. She didn't know what it was, but suddenly it was the gentle stranger who was the strong one, the one who comforted weak Olga when she cried. She wanted to press against the man.

"I promised you a kiss," the man whispered, "so will you have it?"

She couldn't utter a word. The man took her in his arms, and she felt like a feather. Quick as the stroke of a painter's brush, his lips sought hers and touched. He was full and intoxicating, but gone in an instant. Olga blinked up at the man's smiling face. The kiss had taken away her anxiety like a dream.

"Who... who are you?" she asked, not knowing if it was wise to break the spell by asking names, and not caring. The man's laugh was like glass bells in rain.

"I am sweet Moraya / a winged traveller / with a heartful of wishes / and hands for the moon."

"Sweet Moraya..." Olga wondered. "Your name is very beautiful." Had he said any name, she would have thought it beautiful.

"But he... he took your brother," she explained. In some secret part of her she knew this was what she must say to him. "The Capricorn took your brother."

"The conjurer / locked in his tower?" replied Moraya, slim fingers trailing over an aquiline nose. "Come, pretty flower / and I'll show you / the lions, many-faced men / the things that'll end the sky."

Olga didn't understand his words, but as he rose and began walking toward the tower, her instinct was to follow. Moraya made his way through the ruins gracefully, a dancer in the ballroom, the power of a butterfly's wing-beat in his step. Soon they were by the tree, and Moraya weaved delightedly past the fruit and the people. His fingers sought the red fruit, and to Olga's surprise they withered under his touch.

Moraya danced around, whirled, and his grey garment spun around him like the dress of a princess. Every time his eyes saw Olga, they twinkled. When he was done with the square, standing tiptoe at the other end, he shadowed his eyes like gazing far away. Suddenly he startled Olga by hooting. The sound was eerily similar to that of a live owl. Olga didn't know whether she should keep some distance between them, or cling to his hem like a child. She wavered between the two, and hastened after Moraya as he sped once more to the ruins.

The tower pierced the sky above them, curling in on its sides, the fluids of babies and living rubies slurring through its veined walls. Moraya approached it at a march, so quick and determined that Olga had hard time keeping up with him; every now and then he made a bit of curious stomping footwork, fell kneeling and cast his arms up. The procession reminded Olga of an act of worship, though why the fae-like man would want to worship the Capricorn was beyond her. Or maybe it was to appease the fickle demigod. Olga swallowed. As far as she knew, there was no bargaining with the Capricorn – Moraya was certainly rushing to his doom.

Yet while she desired nothing more than to run up to him, grab his airy robes, and beg him to leave the foolish prospect and flee, just flee, she couldn't. An aura, invisible and untouchable, surrounded the dancing man. It was a fighter's aura, a noble's halo: there was no coming between Moraya and his destination, no more than there was coming between the charging rhino and its target. This rhino charged with weightless toes, and its tusk was crystal glass.

They cleared the last bits of crushed stone. The gates of the tower were upon them, breathing a sickly aroma on their faces. This door reminded Olga of a meaty cavity. It was dark, now, and spasmed violently. Blue and violet flowers bloomed on its bleeding surface and died, like raindrops hitting human skin. Olga shied away from that nightmarish door. The Capricorn did not receive his guests by this door; this was where he told them he wished to be alone. Moraya examined the door, and to his eyes it appeared a masterpiece, for a smile and a fire broke on his face. Olga came up to him, timidly, and laid a hand on his full shoulder.

"Please, gentle stranger," she pleaded. "Let it go. We're not people anymore. We're like trees or ponds, existing in the Capricorn's garden... there's nothing..."

Moraya cut her short. "Trees might wield spears some day / and ponds may yet wear mail / what is, may be cut down. / What isn't, can be coaxed forth."

And he dashed forward, before Olga understood what he meant. There was something in his hands. Like a length of living metal. He jumped at the door and slashed. Like a great beast the door recoiled; blood and slime burst from the wound. Moraya cut again, waving his weapon, a laughing knight against a behemoth. The door suffered and bled; gobbets of flesh poured on the impassive stone. Moraya laid to waste the door, and it plopped to either side. The elfin man turned to Olga, drenched in the fluids of the fleshy door, as if to show what he had done.

Then he vanished inside, and she had no choice but to gingerly step around the chunks of flesh and follow. The interior assaulted them with nightmarish visions. Ears on long flabby rods shot from the floor. Tiny erratic stars constantly flew at the edge of sight. Somebody laughed in a shrilly voice, was cut short by a sound like axes chopping of limbs, then the laughter rose again. Faces without mouths swirled at their feet like pebbles, and things with headless fish swimming in their bodies walked by. The light seemed to be going somewhere, but never waning; a grinding smell, bones, vomit, rosy perfume, wafted from tiny nostrils lining the walls.

Olga walked on like in a trance. A few yards ahead, like a swaying storm lantern, was Moraya, swinging his sword and hollering bits of strange songs. Anything that touched his pittering blade was cleft in two. The torrent of horrors parted before him; even things that lacked reason seemed to loathe to get in his way. Moraya cut a happy, safe path through the Capricorn's nightmarish hordes. Nothing touched Olga. It was as if in Moraya's wake fear was turned into something harmless.

They made their way through stairs. Blood mixed with something sickeningly sweet to create an overwhelming scent. The Capricorn's presence hung over everything, sullen, like the eyes of a spoiled child watching somebody approach his toys. Hulking beings with brown bodies made of earth and brimming muscle sprang from the carpets, making not the slightest sound. Moraya's dancing toes swept them off their feet, and the tip of his blade flew over their throats. Olga blinked; the smell of real blood in the air was so very different from the choking miasma induced by the Capricorn. The blood was fresh, and good. Moraya smelled like it all over.

The attacks ceased. Moraya crept into a round antechamber, his sword as steady as his arm, his expression airy. Olga peered timidly over his shoulder. This place she remembered: pillars of creamy red stone, and a floor of breathing porous glass. Draperies drooped everywhere, supported by nothing, and in the middle of the room, a pedestal jutted like a tooth. It was the place the Capricorn had brought her to when she had been seduced. The place of passion. The very pedestal, simple stone, must have been washed with the waters of lust innumerable times.

There on the pedestal, golden hair astray, lay the Capricorn's latest victim – the proud warrior, Moraya's brother. His mail coat had been violently ripped, baring his pale, muscular chest. A small trickle of blood had dried on the corner of his mouth. Great blue eyes were glazed, staring up at the ceiling, and a startled expression had frozen on the faerie features. Olga held her breath. The moment was choking. She would have thought Moraya would have rushed to his brother immediately, but the calm man was still as a statue.

Voice rang through the stone. "I thought I would catch one with the other. Twins are so vulnerable..."

Olga pressed herself to the wall. She wished to be hardly noticeable and prominently visible at the same time. It was the Capricorn who spoke, and his voice sent a promise of ecstasy thundering through her body. Moraya took a step or two into the chamber, sword held easily to the side and back.

"So you are Moraya. Your brother Geno mentioned you before he forgot everything in the throes of passion."

Moraya advanced until he was two paces from the pedestal. He stopped and slid his sword back to scabbard.

"That's right, swords are useless. Come here, so I can make you too forget your brother."

Olga stared fearfully at a door, bubbling forth from the opposite wall. Like the Capricorn himself, the door was perverse yet compelling, a black stain on the wall that invited a person to the chamber of lust. Looking at it sucked all strength from her limbs. She fell to her knees, arms limp like wet rope.

Moraya skirted the pedestal, not giving his brother's body even a glance. His gait was pendulum-like: every step measured an equal length, timed with a clockwork precision. And when he spoke, even his words went in the rhythm of his steps.

"Peacock feathers, human body / tiny heart and withered eye / blasted hands / dimpled cheek. / Are you poor? / or are you a fool?"

The Capricorn's answer was a throaty laugh. "Would you like to see what I am, lovely boy? You're invited..."

Moraya walked dead straight to the door. At the threshold, he spun around, a seemingly calculated part of his dance, and threw his arms toward his brother. He smiled like it was the last thing he would do in this life. The supple lips opened, wanting to say the farewells, but no words came out. Then he was gone, a spin of alabaster skin and grey garment, through the door.

The chamber was quiet. Lustre and magic were dimmed. The silk hanging heavily from the ceiling seemed to lose something of its shine; the stone didn't breathe so freely any longer; the air was dry of its scents. It was as if the spirit of the Capricorn had fled the place to concentrate his full attention to the room beyond, where doubtless Moraya was by now introduced to the depths of passion.

Olga forced some strength into her failing legs and hobbled over to the pedestal. Moraya's brother, whom the Capricorn had called Geno, was still and lifeless like the stone on which he lay. Blue eyes, now pure and empty like the winter sky, were clear of all the harshness and feral cruelty. The burden of life had been lifted off his shoulders. With one tender finger, Olga fiddled with a lock of platinum hair. She dropped it on his cheek, and then, on a whim, tucked it into his mouth. His lips twitched. Olga jerked back.

"You're alive, warrior man..." she said numbly.

Just then sounds erupted from the room beyond. Laughter, and the shattering of glass. Moraya was laughing – though it was a terrible sound, pounding her eardrums, coming from stormclouds and avalanches, she knew it was him. Somehow, in her bones or deeper, Olga knew an incomprehensible thing had passed just then: a creature or a shadow, too complex for her mind to absorb, had flown over their heads. It was something outside the human ken; a thing frightening all on its own scale.

The door bubbled outwards, against its hinges. It dried and became cinders that fell to the floor, floating like a blown cape. Moraya walked out of the Capricorn's chamber. Perfect equilibrium rested on his face. His eyes were knowing and vast. Behind him came the Capricorn, and on seeing him, a dark cold shiver ran along Olga's skin.

The seducer's aura of feathers and spikes was askew, and a breathless red coloured his shameless ivory countenance. His whip-like, harming grace was reduced to something puppy-like, an awkwardness that didn't suit his perfection of limb and body. A very curious thing nestled in the pool of his eye: love, unbidden and unrestrained. On seeing this dominator gaze at Moraya with such adoration, Olga didn't know whether to laugh hysterically or to flee in terror.

Moraya came to the pedestal as if nothing of note had happened. He bowed over sleeping Geno, pale as death and coldly strong in his mail-coat, and pressed a gentle kiss on the thin, oblivious lips. Then he lifted his brother on his arms, carefully letting Geno's head rest on his shoulder, making sure he was comfortable. Frail, girlish Moraya carrying a powerful man in metal armour struck Olga as very funny, all of a sudden, and she started to laugh.

It was a ridiculous scene, of course. The Capricorn, a god who swallowed people for fun, drooling after the feminine saviour carrying the mail-clad maiden. Olga laughed at them, even though no one listened, laughed still as Moraya went out to the balcony and, like a dove, took off toward the swirling Void sky. The Capricorn floated after them, almost whimpering, beautiful hands flitting toward the light of his love. A curious train, he and Moraya and unconscious Geno weaved through the atmosphere of the isle, toward the waiting Void.

Olga stood by the balcony, staring after them, and laughed all the time. Tears ran down her face now, and she felt waves of relief push through her and push out more tears. The flying men could no longer be seen. The Void must have had them by now. Olga laughed. She laughed still as the tower of bird-bone and limestone began to tremble and shatter, laughed as the entire isle shook, cried as greats blocks of stone came loose, laughed and cried as the Void punched through the bubble and came to fill the empty space the Capricorn's leaving had caused.

Relief. Olga laughed and cried in relief as the Void rained down on them, ready to tear apart and destroy. Relief.