Fragile Shard 2. Living Dead City.
Above the bluish-lilac clouds, the whale swam, venturing where the crimson hues of the setting sun failed to reach and immersed itself in purple-blackness. On the giant mammal’s back sprawled the city, adorned with hundreds of pointed towers, its windows gleaming with a thousand lights, and its streets lined with cathedrals and gardens. These gardens were particularly splendid when the whale sailed over the southern seas in spring. However, it was now early autumn, and the gardens slowly transformed from their lush greenery and vibrant colors into a yellow-red palette, bright yet bearing a distinct imprint of sorrow and oblivion. This only accentuated the overall desolation that pervaded the abandoned city atop the back of the enigmatic whale.
From a swirling cloud emerged a solitary flying stingray darting towards the whale’s right fin, where a small airport was located. In the vastness of the sky, the minuscule, shimmering stingray appeared as nothing more than a spark, a fleeting glimmer.
Navigating between abandoned high-rise buildings, the stingray illuminated its surroundings with bright electrical flashes emanating from its tail. The pilot circled the landing area multiple times, carefully selecting a spot amidst the wreckage and remnants of the aircraft. Finally, the flying fish touched down near the entrance of the airport terminal building, an architectural marvel reminiscent of a Gothic cathedral.
As the stingray’s movements subsided and its tail’s flashes dwindled, the glass dome of the cockpit, embedded in the fish’s body, slid open. A tall, heavily built figure clad head-to-toe in dark gray flexible plate armor emerged from the cockpit. Red and ocher fabric folds were draped over the armor with an intricate floral pattern. From his appearance, one could assume that this traveler (or the unexpected guest of the abandoned city) was a representative of the ancient clan of hashashin — the highest-level assassins. If an observer were present here, they would undoubtedly be surprised, for the hashashin vanished from the public eye centuries ago, and all traces of their existence were meticulously erased. Thus, the presence of a living mercenary in such a peculiar place, where no one was left to kill — all succumbed to the epidemic — was all the more astonishing.
Nonetheless, the mercenary knew the purpose of his presence in the floating city perfectly well. Tipping his head slightly as if sniffing the air, he confidently proceeded toward the town and the whale’s side, rising above the distant horizon and towers, stepping over heaps of crushed stones, and bypassing towering fragments of buildings. He journeyed for quite some time, and by the time he reached the undulating body of the whale, the long sunset’s halo burned high above him, beyond the city’s pointed spires.
A rickety wooden staircase was fastened to the whale’s immense size, a makeshift structure hastily erected by looters. The hashashin cocked his head, evaluating the scale of the imminent ascent, and then sighed grimly, embarking on the dangerous climb. Starting from a height of two hundred meters, the ladder swayed mercilessly in sync with the whale’s undulations, the slightest movement of the mercenary causing oncoming airflows. He still had around a hundred meters to the top, the lower observation deck of the city, when the unstable structure creaked and began to crumble. Fragments of wood plummeted, shattering upon hitting the fin’s concrete or being carried away by the wind, soaring into an endless flight through the clouds. Clinging with grasping fingers to the whale’s bumps and protrusions, the hashashin narrowly avoided tumbling into the abyss, teetering on the precipice for a few heart-pounding seconds. Yet, he was no stranger to such precarious situations — dancing with death was not just a profession but his entire life. Skillfully ascending the sheer wall, he ultimately conquered the last meters, clambering onto the ruby pavement of the city.
He sat for several minutes, leaning against the stone parapet, catching his breath. Then, he stood up, smoothed the intricate folds of his fabric, and surveyed his surroundings cautiously; from the quite expansive square where he found himself, two spacious, straight avenues and several winding, narrow alleys diverged, all leading uphill. After careful consideration, the hashashin chose one of the alleys that meandered toward the central town hall square. Even though the city appeared entirely deserted, it never hurt to exercise extra caution. Stealthily and swiftly, the mercenary trod along the ruby-adorned pavement, aglow with red flashes in the setting sun’s glare, his hands brushing against the walls of the buildings.
Previously, when the hashashin had just accepted this assignment, he regarded the forthcoming task with his usual cold indifference, devoid of any emotions — an order was an order, after all, and there had been many in his lengthy life. However, he felt incredibly uneasy alone in this strange ghost town. What was amiss? He trembled incessantly with a sticky, vile sensation of loneliness — not the blissful solitude he felt when returning to his secluded abode on a cliff after completing a mission, where he would spend time reading or training, but a dreary, gloomy feeling of eternal isolation, beyond remedy. He suddenly felt the anguish and agony of the lonely, tortured, deranged whale beneath his feet.
When this maelstrom of emotions peaked, and uncontrollable panic threatened to overwhelm him, he halted. A faint glimmer of reason flickered at the edge of consciousness, reminding him that, in this state, he would be of very little use and that the mission must be accomplished at all costs. Seating himself directly on the cold, polished pavement, he meditated. He began to clear his terrified mind, inhaling and exhaling slowly, focusing on the intricacies of his tunic. After approximately ten minutes, a profound sense of emotional tranquility returned. The overwhelming panic subsided, and he regained control. He transformed the panic attacks into a simple, serene thought: “This is merely an exceedingly strange and desolate place, akin to a graveyard, yet the graveyard itself is also deceased.” Now, he could continue his journey. He had already expended too much time on this task, considering the extensive periods spent in libraries studying the city’s history and plans and the lengthy search to locate it.
Eventually, the mercenary reached the main square — a vast circle completely ensconced by trees with dense canopies through which scarcely any sunlight penetrated. Amidst the dense twilight, the hashashin felt much more at ease — shadows were always his trusty allies.
The sole entrance to the lower city stood in the square’s center, a granite cube with sides spanning approximately ten meters. This entrance was the very goal of the guest. Manipulating the intricate lock, he opened it and, with great effort, pushed aside the colossal granite door. An intense, putrid stench of rotting flesh wafted to the mercenary from the dark passageway — the lower city lay within the decaying bowels of the whale, its slow decomposition having persisted for many years.
With a disgusted twitch, the mercenary resolutely entered the doorway, activating a potent flashlight on his helmet, and commenced the descent. This journey into the gloomy, musty darkness proved exceedingly lengthy, punctuated by occasional necessary halts that consumed around ten hours. Over this time, the hashashin encountered numerous sights: the vast primary hall near the whale’s stomach, boasting colossal columnar houses; the desiccated heart of the city’s garden, entangled in cobwebs (beating almost imperceptibly); and the renowned former area of vessels in the gallbladder.
When the mercenary eventually reached the whale’s head, an even greater sense of desolation overwhelmed him, more potent than before. Very little remained of his objective.
The whale’s brain was almost entirely consumed, with thousands of lavishly appointed cabinets. The city’s administration had once been situated here — the town hall atop had merely served for citizens’ gatherings during festive occasions. In essence, these vast offices ultimately spelled the city’s demise. The whale had adapted to nearly everything except for the destruction of its brain. More accurately, the whale remained alive, its agony projected to last another five or six centuries, but it had become utterly, irrevocably insane. At times, it plummeted to the earth, obliterating entire states with its colossal carcass, while on other occasions, it ascended almost to the stratosphere.
The hashashin diligently executed his task — he systematically traversed each of the three thousand rooms (which took him approximately two days, considering two brief rests for sleep), placing a small carved box from his shoulder bag on every table.
Having accomplished his duty, he retraced his steps and exited the city. He stood on the observation deck for a while, gazing sorrowfully at the clouds below, thoughtfully caressing the stones of the whale-city. He once again observed the sunset, which, after nearly three days of darkness, now appeared to him as everlasting.
Finally, he heaved a sigh and descended the whale’s side onto the fin, leisurely walking towards his stingray, waiting for the pilot. He boarded and soared several wide circles above the city. Then, he directed the stingray westward, turned around, and pressed a button on the remote.
The whale’s eyes erupted like a waterfall, dispersing thousands of droplets and fragments, soaring hundreds of meters away. Emitting an insane, drawn-out creak — a sound akin to a heartrending cry — the whale began to roll sideways and downward.
Yet, the hashashin perceived in this cry a sense of joy, liberation from centuries of torment, rather than suffering. He gazed at the dying city drowning amid the clouds with profound sorrow. Nonetheless, he had fulfilled his most peculiar contract killing and was heading home, flying straight into the fading sunset.
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“Fragile Shards: Whispers of Transience” is an evocative anthology that spans 15 years of the author’s writing journey. From mystical adventures to dark introspections, these tales traverse vivid landscapes, offering a captivating glimpse into the ever-changing tapestry of human emotions and perceptions. Each story is a unique shard, reflecting the complexity of life’s experiences and the resilience of hope.
