Chapter 10 – The Seventh Symphony 

      Ericas head spins in daze as she hangs tangled up in a clothes line in a secluded Leningrad alleyway. The journey from the artillery camp was a tough one and she’d spent most of it upside down. Flying without a striker is harder than she remembers, let alone on something as ridiculous as a shovel. Regardless she had successfully made it into the city although she hadn’t quite stuck the landing; thus the embarrassing situation she now finds herself in. She’s getting quite tired of being tied up and after a few strong wiggles and struggles she manages to free herself from her suspended bondage. She drops down onto the snow covered ground where her shovel lays sunken deep into the white carpet. 

     “I miss my striker.” She says to herself as she looks around. Somewhere in this city she has to find Sanya. She’s sure that her friend is fine, she can look after herself after all, but there are still cannons firing into Leningrad so the danger isn’t exactly minor. 

      She’s hit upon some good fortune however as hanging on the line which had ensnared her sways some extra clothes she can make use of. It would probably be best to cover up her bare legs so she quickly pulls down a pair of trousers which look like they might fit her. Luckily they just about do and after spotting a pair of worn out boots sitting by a boarded up back door she decides to “borrow” these as well. 

      Now kitted up and fully clothed Erica walks out into the street carrying her shovel. The situation is much the same as Sanya had found; an empty quiet street where the only real sound is that of constant ticking from the speakers hanging off lamp posts. The place is badly damaged with the alleyway she had just emerged from being one of the few still standing buildings. Everything else along the road has collapsed into piles of still smouldering rubble. Even the street itself while covered in show is quite obviously cratered and pot-marked with holes and mounds of debris. It doesn’t take long for Erica to find out why as further down the road she sees what looks like a large factory. Smoke rises from the tall chimneys and the distant sound of machine work, claxons and hammering is carried on the icy wind.

      As she approaches the colossal building Erica spots turrets poking from broken windows and holes in the walls. With a deafening bang one such turret opens fire on someplace beyond the factory grounds, outside the city. On the roof sit several anti-aircraft emplacements and a handful of guards stand on duty at the compound's fort-like entrance. She dare not get any closer and doubts that Sanya would be in such a place. It’s likely an armaments factory building tanks and weapons. Maybe one day they can help break the siege. 

      As Erica turns away from the industrial stronghold behind her, she suddenly notices that the radio speakers ticking has become much faster. Its rhythmic beat is far more rapid now and the strange new atmosphere fills the girl with a terrible feeling of suspense. 

       “Hey what are you doing!?” Erica hears from a little down the road. There she spots a small girl standing atop a staircase heading down into one of the still intact apartments’ basements. The child waves Erica over swiftly with a look of worry plastered on her young face before vanishing into the dark. Erica takes a few moments to ponder if following is such a good idea; she’s had her fill of underground spaces for now. Soon however the sound of engines comes into earshot from high above, followed by distant explosions. The ticking must have been a warning, signalling an incoming air raid. Not wanting to be out in the open Erica quickly runs to the still open basement door and carefully descends the slippery stone steps into the cellar. 

      As soon as Erica makes it into the dim basement the factory outside lights up its AA-guns with deep, slow thuds sending shells high into the sky, the pops of the flak and falling bombs shake the brick walls, dropping clouds of dust down everywhere. Through this mist she can make out a small living space nestled on the catacombs far side. Next to a fire in a charred metal pan sits the girl who had called out to her. She’s much younger than Erica, maybe ten or so, with a ragged scarf and mittens, messy brown hair and a tired, hungry look in her eyes. She sits alone, surrounded by a small pile of firewood, a knapsack and a dirty looking pillow. Her tiny boots stand drying out on some bricks next to the waving flames and piles of disgusting sheets lay in a heap by the wall. 

      Slowly Erica makes her way over to the little girl who sits cross legged warming her hands against the small fire. Without protest she sits down across from her and rests the shovel on the floor. 

     “Thank you for warning me. I’m Erica. It’s nice to meet you.” Erica says softly.

     “I’m Sofia. What were you doing wandering around out there? It’s dangerous.” The girl asks, raising her voice a little to be heard over the sound of the explosions. 

      “I… I just got here. I’m looking for someone and…” Erica trails off. She can’t help but look at her host with sadness. Despite her adolescence the child looks old, her face wrinkled and thin with gaunt cheeks and heavy dark eyes which glimmer slightly in the glow. She’s missing several teeth and her nose runs constantly as the girl robotically mops at it with her scratchy gloves. Such youth and innocence, trapped here alone among this rain of fire and steel. What can Erica say, what words can she find to use in this hopeless situation? 

     “I’ve heard of new people showing up in the city recently, are you one of them?” Sofia asks with her shaky, mouse like voice. 

     “Something like that. Why are you still here? Why are there still people in the city? Shouldn’t you all have been evacuated by now?” Erica says bluntly. 

      “They wouldn’t let people at first. Papa said it was our duty to hold the city. That the soldiers needed a reason to fight so we had to stay… But papa is gone now. Everyone is gone now… So today’s my last day here, I’m getting out with the rest of the kids after the music show.” Sofia says as a blast sends a cascade of dust down on her small head. 

      After all the things Erica has heard the last few hours she’s still amazed that she can find new things to be horrified by. Not allowing civilians to flee an active war zone just to motivate the soldiers? What barbarity is this, what sort of a man orders such a thing? Erica sits in silence pondering this for a good while as the storm of bombs and bullets continues to rage outside. Likewise the little Sofia says nothing as she lies down on her side slowly as if about to go to sleep. 

      The swarm of aircraft soon depart from the skies of Leningrad after several gruelling minutes of wanton destruction. The firing of anti-air dies down and the ruined city descends once more into an eerie, corpse-like quiet. Even from within the basement the two resting girls can hear the armaments factory immediately resume work and distant shouts echoing from somewhere far off. If she listens costly Erica can even make out the sound of the ticking, now returned to its slow, pacing song.

      This sorrowful quiet is soon broken again however when Ericas stomach lets out a loud cry for food. She hasn’t eaten a proper meal for two days and she’s exhausted much of her magical supply. She could really go for some mashed potatoes right now, or Yoshikas fancy Fuso cooking, sweet chocolate, Britannian fish…

      As Erica day dreams about filling her empty hole, Sofia sits back up, painfully as if it exerted a great amount of energy to do even that. This sudden movement from the child spurs Erica from her stupor.

      “Are you hungry? I am…” Sofia asks. “We can go to the kitchens. It’s not far. Do you have your rationing cards?”

      Not having any such rationing cards Erica shakes her head. She worries for a moment that because of this she might miss out on the food, and feels a deep wave of disappointment sweep over her. If there’s one thing she enjoys more than sleeping it’s eating. Luckily Sofia crawls over to her small knapsack and produces two tattered and stained pieces of thick brown paper. 

      “I-I’ve never had anyone to give this to so… Here, take my sister's old card.” Sofia says softly as she hands over the slip to her blond guest. Erica has always had a way with children, probably due to her own childish nature, so she’s glad that this young girl has grown to trust her so soon. 

      “Thank you very much Sofia.” Erica replies, putting the paper into her jacket pocket. While she’s sure to temper her expectations, Erica can’t help but once again fantasize over what she might soon get to eat, as to end her growing hunger. Nothing can be worse than Minnas barely edible abominations and Ericas tried standard MRE packs plenty of times before. A tiny spark of excitement begins to burn inside the witch as she and Sofia ascend the steps back into the outside world.   

      While the walk to the place Sofia had called “The Kitchen” wasn’t a long one, to Erica it felt like an eternity. Much as Sanya had experienced earlier, the pair pass dead bodies lying all around. By now some of them are being picked up and placed into large hand-carts, piled cadaver on top of rotting cadaver, arms and legs hanging over the edges and poking through gaps as if reaching out for a rescue which will never come. 

      Most of the death Erica had witnessed before had been swift, instant incinerations inside a Neurois deadly laser. It’s a fact which comes to her now that witches like her are unfortunately blessed, that they don’t have to witness death from close up. A ship gets sunk, a plane shot down, yet rarely do witches see the faces of the soldiers who die to the Neuroi. That is why now even the battle hardened veteran can hardly bring herself to look upon the decaying mounds of wasted human lives which continue to grow higher and higher. 

      After this mortifying tour of decay she and Sofia reach their destination; an old warehouse with smashed out windows and a rusty tin roof. The doorway and path are practically clear of snow indicating that many people come and go from this building and a faint smell of something permeates the air. It’s certainly not an inviting smell, maybe yeast or old flour. At the door a man stands clutching a rifle, draped in a thick green coat and with a bright blue cap resting on his head. 

     “Watch out for the blue hats.” Sofia whispers as she lightly tugs on Ericas sleeve. “They’re mean. Just show him your ration card and he’ll let you in.”

      Cautiously and with an increasing sense of dread Erica approaches the waiting guard. Wordlessly she presents the creased card receiving nothing but a glance and a deep grunt indicating her safe passage inside. This man clearly doesn’t care anymore, why should he? 

      Inside the large spacious warehouse a long line of waiting people cue in morbid lock step. It is yet another horrific sight to the hungry witch. Some look relatively normal and almost healthy while others look more like shambling zombies. Some appear bloated and swelled, with blue and purple splotches ruining their skin, exposed ears and noses red and black as they are eaten away by the cold. Some are more skeleton than flesh, their bodies thin and skin tinged yellow and transparent. All have heavy, deep and exhausted eyes which stare foreword into nothingness. One man stands poking and prodding with trembling hands at his own mouth, from which a sickening bile of black sludge drools from his dead, rotting, toothless gums. 

      The sight almost brings Erica to tears, this decay of humanity. These were dead men and dead women, moving around on the basic animalistic instincts keeping them alive. Worst of all were the dead children who look just as decrepit as their elders. Slowly Erica and Sofia line up at the end of the snaking cue in silence with the rest of them. 

      It takes over fifteen minutes until the pair have their “food” and find a place to sit down. Large tables have been arranged in rows spanning the warehouse floor where people sit eating, mostly alone and in solitude. Erica wonders if she can even eat in lieu of what she has witnessed as she unwraps the paper pack which contains her rations. 

      If Erica has ever felt as disappointed as she does now she certainly can’t remember it. What she finds inside her pouch is soul crushing: only 300 grams of tough, crumbling bread. Erica looks up at Sofia who slowly and mechanically opens her own rations, only to take a small, rodent-like nibble before wrapping them back up. She knows she has to save for later. Erica however picks up a whole piece of the strange bread, biting a firm piece in one go. 

      Like a horrific explosion in her mouth Erica feels a powerful urge to spit the disgusting thing she just ate out. Quickly however Sofia places a small hand over Ericas mouth, preventing her from doing so. 

       “Don’t spit it out. Seriously, don’t. Look around you.” She says in a hushed, panicked whisper. With her mouth still covered Erica sweeps her eyes around the room. Several people are glaring at her with unblinking angry eyes, enraged looks across their faces as if they are about to leap over the tables to beat her senseless. 

       “You can’t waste it. Not a piece, nothing.” Sofia says. Reluctantly and with great struggle Erica finally manages to force down the sopping mound of bread. When Sofia removes her tiny paw Erica lets out a disgusted “yuck” in mild protest, her face practically green with tears rimming her eyes. 

        “What is this stuff?” Erica asks in a sickened daze. 

        “The city doesn’t have enough wheat to make real bread anymore so the cooks add other stuff to bulk it up. I think it’s sawdust today… tastes like sawdust…” Sofia moans in a tone of quiet resolve. How? How can this world keep getting worse Erica thinks to herself. 

         “This is really all you have to eat?” she asks in terrified disbelief. Sofia simply nods in confirmation. She needs not words; the scene around the girls should act as proof of this. Unable to contain herself any longer, the usually aloof Erica breaks down. Of course it’s the food which got to her in the end. She rests her head onto the wooden table and sobs a quiet, broken moan. It goes unnoticed among the ever shifting crowd; she’s not the only one. 

        Again a small hand reaches across the table, only now to come to rest on top of Ericas soft, smooth blond hair. With subtle, slow movements Sofia gently strokes Hartmanns scalp as if hoping to comfort her. Sofias face has remained unchanged, she’s seen this countless times before. 

         “It’s ok, Miss Erica. Maybe you can get more food at the concert hall?” Sofia says, causing Erica to raise her head in a tear filled confusion. 

        “W-Why would I find food there?” Erica asks through sniffs and coughs.

       “You said you just arrived in the city, so you must be with the others preparing for the symphony right? I’ve heard they have more ‘real’ food with them.” Sofia says, trying to keep her voice down so as to not raise interest from anyone nearby. 

       Erica remembers that Sofia did mention a music show earlier. If the city is preparing for a symphony of music then surely that is where Sanya would be. There’s no other thing that would draw her in like a building full of musicians!  

       Elsewhere across the city Sanya sits on her own among a packed, bustling crowd, painstakingly reading the assembled sheet music pages in her hands. All around her men rush back and forth carrying instruments, seats and stands. A few stronger workers lift a huge chello onto the stage while another group attends to two mighty harps placed either side of the room. These people move about with passion and conviction, full of energy in defiance of the detestable conditions outside. 

       Sanya had never been inside the Philharmonic Hall before back in her world. Amazingly this building has remained superbly intact despite the siege, no wonder they chose here to hold today’s performance. And what a performance it will be, Sanya thinks. She can read the sheets of magnificently arranged notes as if they were another language, visualising in her mind the flow of the music, the sounds that the funny squiggles and looping lines will soon make. It's been a long time since she last played from sheets and she can't help but admit that she does feel quite nervous about this whole situation. 

       As if answering Sanyas worries, Mister Shostakovich appears through the crowd, hushing the room in reverence of his sudden appearance. He, like most others here has changed into a fancy looking black suit and bow tie. His shining spectacles reflect the bright golden lights of the immaculate music hall as he notices Sanya through the shifting mass. 

      “Sanya, there you are. You look much better out of that tattered coat. How do you find the composition? Are you confident you can play it?” Dimitri asks in a friendly, warm manner. Sanya takes a moment to gather her thoughts about the music, and to digest Dimitris' compliment, a bright blush growing on her face. Sanya has tidied up her appearance ready for the show and has thrown away her shredded tights, now remaining in her uniform tail coat and skirt. Some kind man had even found her a pair of black dress shoes which fit her quite nicely. 

       “It’s a masterpiece, Mister Shostakovich. I-I’m confident. I won’t let you down. I promise.” Sanya replies softly as she gets up and straightens her tie.

       “I realise we’ve only just met and I’m putting a lot on you all of a sudden but… I have a good feeling about you.” Dimitri says with a smile. 

      “I’m honoured you offered me this opportunity sir. For the people of Leningrad.” Sanya smiles back. 

       “For the people of Leningrad it is.” Dimitri beams happily. “Oh and I’ve gotten word from the army that the Germans won't be disturbing the act today. We had planned to destroy one of the invaders' artillery positions but somehow it’s already been destroyed. Aren’t we lucky this day?” he continues as he makes his leave. 

      Sanya breathes a deep sigh as she steadies herself. The audience will soon take their seats, all hand picked members of Leningrad’s surviving elite. Sanya won’t just be performing to the people inside the hall however as the cities radio operators have set up recorders to broadcast the concert all across the ruins using the speakers which line the streets. She’s been told that new equipment has even been installed to blast the musical resolve of Leningrad directly at the Germans. Everyone around will hear the unbreakable spirit of this city and knowing this may give the destitute citizens, eking out their days in the rubble a chance at hope brings the young Orussian tremendous joy.   

      Sanya sits calm and patient at her perch by the huge black piano on stage. The members of the orchestra have all assembled at their posts, instruments in hand. Some are not official members of the philharmonic orchestra at all, but rather talented civilians who have volunteered to take the places of those dead or injured. As such some waiting musicians tremble and sweat in nervous anticipation. 

      The grand hall, with its giant round columns and huge hanging chandeliers is packed with row upon row of onlookers. Every now and then a cough or a sneeze breaks through the low murmurs of the crowd. Despite everyone, even the performers clearly being tired and hungry, with terribly skinny and weak bodies many wear profound smiles as they wait for the show to begin. 

      Soon Mister Shostakovich himself approaches the front of the stage, taking his spot ready to conduct a mighty performance as the lights dim amid a welcoming applause. As he bows and prepares to commence, a loud rumble disturbs the whole building. Everyone remains motionless for several agonising seconds. The fear of an attack at this very moment is on everyone’s mind. Luckily that boom proves to be nothing more than natural thunder. If an invading army can’t stop this symphony, then neither will a simple storm. The rolling noise only acts as a mighty signal to begin, and after a coy glance over his shoulder at the audience Dimitri raises his conductor’s baton steadily.

      Shostakovich’s arms rise rapidly, thrusting the baton about with energetic vigour. In a moment the strings section of the orchestra opens up, filling the room with a wonderful melody of violins and cellos, soon joined by the whistles of flutes and clarinets, drums and horns. After the sudden bombastic opening the hall falls to almost silence as the violinists weave a subtle, almost tranquil sonata. 

      Sanyas' part to play in this musical ensemble is admittedly very minor, being mostly confined to the background beat, barely noticeable among the flurry of woodwinds and brass. Despite this she is determined to give the performance her all, to give a show that would make her father proud. Like an expert pianist she flows from key to key, adding her contribution to the rising allegretto. The hall is soon once again awash and booming with all instruments thundering a march. 

      In an instant the tone of the play changes, becoming even more dramatic and raging. Shostakovich’s face twists in smiles and serious glances as his baton swings about furiously. Sanya is sure that this section of the symphony, in all its foreboding grandeur is evoking the invading army of Germans at the gates, the might of the trombones and deep base surely a harbinger of dread. 

      On and on the concert continues through low, smooth and nostalgic sections of melancholy and rapid, intense explosions of musical noise. All the while the lost Orussian plays her soul out with fine, deliberate movements of her dainty fingers across the checkerboard keys. The whole time memories again flood the girl's mind but never to the point of distracting her from her duty. Tears grow in her eyes, the wondrous joy she feels being inescapable. After everything she’s seen, finally she can do something good, something to bring her inner peace. 

      After over an hour of musical spender the symphony ends in a grand crescendo with Shostakovich in obvious, infectious jubilation at his fantastic accomplishment. As soon as the music stops, not a second passes before the hall erupts into a chorus of its own, made of hundreds of clapping hands, cheers and whistles coming from the smiling, crying, delighted audience. The members of the orchestra stand and bow according to their sections, and with Sanya being the only pianist on stage she finds herself giving a solitary, princess-like greeting, receiving the applause and admiration of the crowd along with the peers. 

      Even after the hall has mostly quieted down the unmistakable sound of clapping persists, only now coming from outside, permeating even the thick walls of the building. It continues on as the audience leaves and as the musicians begin to pack away their belongings. Unable to contain her curiosity, Sanya makes her way to a nearby window. To her utter astonishment a huge crowd of people have gathered all around the philharmonic hall, clapping and cheering despite many of them looking too sick and hungry to move. These people on the brink of death have, through the power of music, found the strength to march en masse to the hall to show their appreciation. 

      Dimitri’s plan had certainly worked as the people of Leningrad, even though their suffering had awoken their shared determination and passion. Hope flows across the ruins through the streets and alleyways, in the sewers and factories, even breaching the besieged barricades to reach the invaders themselves. Where people couldn’t make it to the hall they crowd around the conical lamp post speakers which once signalled nothing but death as if they were a regular morning radio. Everywhere Sanya looks she sees smiling faces, with hints of colour returned to tight, hollow cheeks. 

      Every here and there some people sit against walls and on curbs, motionless. Sanya is sure that these people are probably dead, having passed during the performance itself. Yet even these unfortunate souls wear silent grins. Somehow this morbid sight brings Sanya comfort, knowing that in their last moments she helped bring them happiness after however long they suffered through unknown pain. 

       “What a fantastic performance!” Sanya hears called out from behind her. Dimitri walks over to the young girl, dabbing sweat from his forehead with a small towel. The show had exerted a lot from the man yet he still seems full of spirit.  

       “It was indeed Mister Shostakovich. Thank you very much for having me.” Sanya replies with a content, fulfilled smile as she shakes Dimitris’ hand. 

      “I realise it was a small part to play but we all have our duties to do in these trying times. I see you’ve been looking over your accomplishment. The people will remember this moment, Sanya, forever.” Dimirti says confidently. “Thank you for accepting my offer. Shall we go out to meet them?”

      As the doors to the hall open the rapturous applause continues. The crowd steadily moves to embrace Shostakovich while Sanya, still not exactly a people person, backs off to avoid becoming ensnared in the sea of adoring citizens. She’s happy enough seeing their joy and would much rather observe it quietly from afar. 

      Not one for goodbyes, Sanya decides to leave Dimitri to his fans. As she turns around to leave however a familiar face greets her through the snow. 

       “Hello Sanya.” Erica says softly, a worried look obvious on her face as she stands next to Sofia. The girl is tense, not knowing if Sanya has forgiven their fight earlier. A moment of uncertainty hangs between them both until Sanya breaks out into a big, relieved smile. Seeing this Erica also can’t help but grin and the two rush to meet one another and embrace.     

      “I’m so sorry Erica. I’m so, so sorry.” Sanya says as she rests her face against Ericas shoulder, tears pooling again in her shining eyes. “Please forgive me, I shouldn’t have left you. I was just… so angry.” Sanya cries. 

     “It’s ok. I shouldn’t have hurt you either. I’m sorry as well. Things have been…well they’ve been a nightmare frankly…” Erica replies. “Did you have something to do with this?” she asks, motioning to the still exuberant gathering around the concert hall. Sanya shies away in mild embarrassment at Ericas question. “We were listening on the radios all the way here. As soon as I heard the music I knew you’d be here. I’m so glad your ok.”

     “What about you? How did you get here Erica?” Sanya asks. 

     “Well… If anyone asks if you can fly on a shovel tell them ‘no’.” Erica says dismissively, drawing a slight chuckle from her smiling counterpart. Surely Sanya is imagining such a sight, surely it’s quite hilarious. Erica quickly tries to change the subject by pulling the young Sofia over to her.

     “Sanya, this is Sofia. I met her on the way here.” Erica gestures. 

     “Were you the one on the radio?” Sofia asks with a huge, happy smile. 

     “It’s nice to meet you, Sofia. I was one of them, yes. Did I do well?” Sanya asks politely. Sofia simply gives a pleased, childish nod of approval but that was enough for Sanya. Erica however moves in closer to talk quietly with her friend. 

     “Sanya… this world, we can’t stay here. We have to find a way home!” Erica whispers. Sanya gives Erica a look of understanding. She knows Erica must have seen the same horrors she has, if not more . “I don’t know how we’ll do it but I promise you we’ll get home.”

      “I know we will Erica. Maybe we can make it to-” Sanya says, getting cut off by Sofia who also takes one of her hands quickly. 

     “You can come with me! Didn’t I tell you Miss Hartmann that I’d be leaving after the music show? Well they’re evacuating the last of the city’s children later today, come with me!” Sofia says, bounding with youthful energy. Both Sanya and Erica look at one another curiously before giving playful shrugs. 

      “Well looks like that’s our way out.” Erica says happily. As the three young girls look at one another with calm happiness another distant rumble of thunder rocks the sky. Sofia looks about with growing worry. 

    “A storm’s coming. We should hurry.”