Daybreak

Under the cover of darkness, a trail of refugees crosses a barren wasteland. Wounded, grieving, desperate for shelter, their huddled forms keep pace with a woman on a stygian mare. She looks east, to the approaching horsewoman on the horizon, and tugs at her inky-black shawl.

“I’m surprised you’re still here, Sister Dusk,” Dawn says as she reels her alabaster stallion next to Dusk’s mare and into the caravan’s fold. “You should be home by now.”

“Not to worry, bright sister,” Dusk sighs, tugging again at the shawl. “I’ll be home before long.”

Dawn looks puzzled as she straightens her white, wide-brimmed hat. “No, sister, you’ll be home now. Your night is over, and I need to bring in the day.”

“Do you see all of these people behind me?” Dusk says with a sweeping gesture. “Hunted like beasts they are, by an evil that wishes to see the people of their blood gone from this world, and your light will reveal them to the bloodhounds. Only in my darkness can they survive.”

Dawn glances over her shoulder and a wave of pity washes over her steely face. It doesn’t take long, however, before the same stoic expression returns.

“Be that as it may, the world holds more than just these unfortunates. Think of the rattlesnake, starving for my warmth, or the hibiscus flower, eager—”

“They can wait,” Dusk interrupts. “For a few hours, for however long this takes, they can wait.”

“Sister!” Dawn exclaims. “The order of the world does not stop and change at your whims.”

“They’ll die, Dawn. All of them.”

“Then they’ll die, like so many others.”

Dawn reaches for her hat, preparing to raise it to the sky and summon the morning but doesn’t get much further than that before Dusk grabs her arm.

“And where’s the justice in that?” Dusk says with desperation in her throat.

“They’ll find justice in my revealing light, when the world can see what has befallen them.”

“Revealed to whom?” Dusk cries. “Who can offer justice, when the judges are the unjust? Who can uphold honor, when there is no shame? No, Sister Dawn, these people will only find death in your morning.”

As if to prove her point, a loud rumble fills the nightly silence. In the distance, metal birds soar and dive back and forth over the desert, searching for those that managed to escape, for any sign of life that they could snuff out. Panicked screams arise amongst the gathered, each scrambling to hide behind the nearest rock or outcrop as the winged terrors fly ever closer.

“Layla!” Dusk calls out to a one-armed woman in the caravan. The woman is swift to follow procedure, giving a simple nod in response before putting an ivory whistle to her mouth and blowing it twice. By Layla’s command, her people come out of hiding one by one and gather before the two sisters on horseback. 

Dusk removes her shawl from her neck and raises it to the wind. Caught by the storm formed from the great birds’ wings, the shawl stretches and spreads its black threads, forming a veil of impenetrable darkness over those assembled. Not a second later, one of the Skyterrors focuses its blazing gaze upon where the caravan had been, ready to strike. This time, it finds nothing. 

 

Under Dusk’s shadowy veil, the refugees hold each other close and offer hushed prayers — as much to themselves as to their god. Terrified, they listen to the thunderous roar of the Skyterror as it fades in and out in its search for those hidden by Dusk’s shawl.

“Very well sister. Bring your dawn,” Dusk says as the Skyterror passes by for the third time.

“What?”

“It was so important to you, after all.”

Dawn looks stunned. “Sister, I… this isn’t…”

“Let the sun tear through my veil. I ask only that you watch the outcome, that you witness the genocide as it happens. It’s only fair that you see your share, as I have.”

Dawn looks out over those gathered, at their desperate faces caked in blood and ash, and tightens her hold on the bejeweled reins. The muscles around her face relax, and she looks down in defeat.

“You know I can’t, sister. Not now.”

 

Dusk and Dawn sit in silence for a while, listening as the Skyterrors’ presence slowly abates. Once the night falls silent again, Dusk removes her veil over the caravan with a sweeping motion and wraps the shawl around her neck. Relief begins to take the place of worry and fear, and, as if it had never happened — or because it had happened — the caravan comes to life with song and dance. Handfuls of bread, salt, and water pass from family to family, no one taking more than the other. Once the foodstuff reaches the sisters, only Dusk accepts. 

“It’s considered impolite in their culture to deny a gift,” Dusk says, nudging her sister with an elbow. Saying nothing, Dawn reluctantly accepts the offering and takes small bites in silence. When she finally speaks, it is with the softness of their mother.

“Who makes this time any different?” Dawn asks.

“What?”

“I know you, dear sister. Who is she?”

Dusk hesitates at first. Then, she points to the one-armed woman named Layla. “Her.”

Dawn finds the woman in the crowd, a toddler in her lap that she bounces gently to the rhythm of the drums. The child squeals and giggles with excitement, clapping two chubby arms together as Layla brings him in for a hug. She puts the residual limb of her right arm against the toddler’s own stump of a leg and makes a surprised face, all as if to say ‘Would you look at that, we’re the same!’

As Dawn watches, a frown forms on her brow. “But… she’s so boring?”

“Oh, you should see her, sister. How gracefully she dances in moonlit fields at night, how patiently she counts the stars in the sky, how softly and serenely she prays before bed.”

“She doesn’t pray to you, dear sister.”

“And yet, it feels like she does. It feels like religion when she touches me, and when she calls my name… it’s an act of worship. Not to me, but to us.”

“And you would hold off the day for her?”

“For all of them. For any of them.” 

Dawn looks at the starry sky and sighs. “You’re not asking for permission, are you?”

“You know me, remember?” Dusk answers with a rare smile.

“Dark sister, how can I deny you this?” Dawn says and strokes Dusk’s cheek with her ever-warm hand, “Call upon me when they’re ready, and we’ll let my light shine on their future.”

“Thank you, Dawn.”

“Always,” she says and rises from the ground. She treads over to her ever-patient stallion, who whinnies at having a rider again. “Don’t keep me waiting.”

Dusk gives another smile as she calls after her sister. “I’ll take off my shawl, you’ll raise your hat, and we’ll watch the daybreak together.”