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On the eve of MidWinter, Thaddaeus walked alone through quiet city streets under a strange sky. For at noon, a brisk wind had begun to blow over the city, strong enough to shred the cover of sooty cloud and smoke and to reveal a wintry blue sky for the first time in many years. Thaddaeus had taken the children out onto the roof to feel the cold clean wind and to stand in the winter sun. The other members of the household had strayed out the kitchen door into the old gardens, hardly believing the sight of clear skies.
“How is it possible?” Hyla said, raising her face to the sunlight.
“A change is coming, that’s for certain,” Tom said. He looked up and saluted the children who were cheering and waving from the rooftop.
“Emmie’s never seen the sun,” Hyla said.
“Except in paintings,” Tom replied.
Now Thaddaeus walked the streets alone as the sun set in a fiery glow and the strange evening darkened. He thought he might see other folk out and about, enjoying the clean air blowing in on strong winds from the sea; but the city seemed deserted. Houses were shuttered as if to escape the dying daylight that revealed the city’s unkempt appearance. Then, as he entered the Market Square, he heard echoing footsteps and saw the Mayor, with a small retinue, coming his way.
The Mayor was, in fact, going to The Tower Inn. He had heard rumours of its residents: they had food and firewood without application to City Hall. In addition, a certain Captain Kurt Cummings, who had slithered upward through the ranks and recently insinuated himself into the Mayor’s private guard, had informed the Mayor that The Tower Inn was full of seditious art, and a sizeable crowd of dangerous criminals who had previously been living on the streets. The Mayor and his guards were on their way to investigate when they met Thaddaeus.
When Thaddaeus saw the Mayor’s face illuminated by the final rays of the red sun, a blinding light filled his mind and the pulsing of a great heart filled his ears. Joyfully he raised his voice in song. Feeling the pulsation filling the earth and everything in it, Thaddaeus grasped the Mayor and embraced him. He saw the Mayor’s face close to his, suffused with the radiant light that dazzled his eyes, and he shouted aloud his affirmation of all that was good. He heard a sharp cry and released the Mayor into the glorious light.
What Captain Cummings saw was this: an old man, big and strong as a bear, striding across the Market Square. Cummings shouted an order and the Guard all raised their pistols, but then stood transfixed. The old man grabbed the Mayor by the shoulders, lifted him off his feet, and shook him, bellowing, “Beneath! Above! Behind! Before! Within! Beside! To win! Restore!” The Mayor screamed and the old man released him and strode away. The Mayor, shrieking like a skewered pig, turned and ran for City Hall where he shut himself in his private chambers, locking the doors. Stunned, Cummings and the Guard looked at each other and lowered their guns.
“We should go after him,” Cummings said.
“Who? The Mayor?” one of the Guards said, shrugging. His name was Sergeant Fiddle, formerly of the city’s Night Guard.
“No, you fool! The old man,” Cummings spat.
Cummings and his men looked around. A thick darkness was quickly creeping into the Market Square; they could hardly see one another’s faces.
“Why haven’t the streetlights come on?” Cummings growled.
Then from nearby, a woman’s voice called out: “Watchman what is left of the night?”
“Morning is coming, but also the night,” cried a great voice that echoed over the empty market stalls. At the sound of that voice, Captain Cummings and his men ran pell-mell for City Hall. A tearing gust of wind blasted out of the sky and seemed to chase them with a hot darkness that roared at their heels. The furnace wind chased Kurt Cummings all the way to the palace where he met the General out for an evening walk.
“What news, man?” The General demanded as Cummings ran by. The next second he shrieked and tore off after the Captain. The unnatural wind blasted his backside like a blacksmith’s bellows as he wailed in pain and confusion. Running like a madman, he followed Cumming out the city gates. No one saw them go; no one witnessed those two men running through that longest of nights. Not even the stars looked on, for they were falling, falling from the sky; and as they fell, a red moon rose.