Blue Ruin

A new world for a new year.

At the omphalos, fire and smoke rise from the Burning Man and candle towers light the way to the abandoned Ministry of Peace. Nearby at the base of the living tree dwelling of Swampside is the entrance to the rail system that links to the four cities at the corners of the known world, Diomira, a city of sixty silver domes, Isidora where the buildings have spiral staircases encrusted with spiral seashells, Dorothea with its four aluminium towers and women with fine teeth who look you straight in the eye, and not least, Zaira, the city of high bastions.

From their encampments and dark castles, seeking where to hide From the grim flames, and from the visions of Orc, in sight Of Albion’s Angel; who, enrag’d, his secret clouds open’d From North to South, and burnt outstretch’d on wings of wrath.

Dark is the heaven above, and cold and hard the earth beneath: And, as a plague-wind, fill’d with insects, cuts off man and beast, And, as a sea o’erwhelms a land in the day of an earthquake, Fury, rage, madness, in a wind swept through Blue Ruin; And the red flames of Orc, that folded roaring, fierce, around The angry shores; and the fierce rushing of th’ inhabitants together! The citizens of Diomira close their books and lock their chests; The mariners of Zaira drop their anchors and unlade; The scribe of Dorothea casts his pen upon the earth; The builder of Isidora throws his hammer down in fear.