The birds were avoiding Gorgossium these nights, and all nights since Christopher Carrions reported demise. In fact it seemed that the overhauling of the midnight island by Mater Motley had caused some of Carrions servants to flee for cover, the birds included. It had been cruelly stated by the old hag herself to anyone who dare mention her grandsons' name, let alone show him support, that they would suffer a gruesome death immediately. As if occupancy on Gorgossium, where all the imagined horrors of the Abarat are contained, wasn't enough of a threat to ones mortality now this manner of persuasion ensued all whose allegiance formerly lied with Carrion.

Most succumbed to Motleys wishes, being too afraid to challenge or rebel against her ruler ship. Others swore that they had never been aligned with Carrion in the first place, what with it rumored that he had attacked his own grandmother; the idea of support was absurd. It was Motley who always had the power and Motley who always had the focus and drive to rule Gorgossium. For others however, it seemed too impossible that their all-powerful Lord was dead, demolished by an old woman and a bunch of seamstresses. It almost seemed like a myth that had been created as a form of propaganda, as a way to control all aspects of Gorgossium.

Indeed it was myth in part because even Mater Motley was unsure of Carrions demise. It was always assumed that Carrion was ripped apart by a flesh eating Mantizac in the depths of the Isabella. The truth is that no one really knew for sure and this unknowing mystery is what kept a certain twisted devotion for Carrion alive. Even if they knew of what had happened in the water logged house of the hereafter between Carrion, Boa, and Candy, the idea that he was dead would still fall in the realms of the unthinkable….

The night was stirred by the squawking of many ravens that had recently appeared in this vicinity of the Abarat. It was unusual for that type of bird to flock to this time of Night and the image gave locals quite a fright considering the birds' nightmarish origin.

The strangest aspect of their sudden arrival was their devoted flight pattern. They swooped and encircled an area of water that was sheltered by shadow an area that was almost inaccessible by ordinary means due to the violent whirlpool that encircled it.

Most fishermen never ventured near this natural phenomenon because it was tinged with a red glow giving off mist that made visibility almost impossible. The most amazing part of the ravens' devotion to this swirling mass was their ability to dive into its center, momentarily disappearing, then reappearing as if unaffected by its raging motions. Some even stayed down in its depths almost seeming to be resting for a time. With such an anomaly present and such eerie sights associated with it the locals had, over the many years since its initial discovery, come to ignore its existence and it was considered taboo to talk about it even in the mildest of conversations.

The dark storm clouds of Djit, where the hour was always 2 am, emitted enough coverage to conceal many a secrets and most people steered clear of the island for fear of getting struck by the venomous lightening bolts that shot from those clouds. The formation of the red-misted whirlpool several decades earlier in a cove on the island that lay directly across from Jiberish, where the hour was always 11 pm, was considered by Abaratian geologists to be a natural occurrence. It was likely to have occurred, thought the scientists, from the building energy constantly contained on the island. Of course it was highly unlikely that anyone could get into the islands core to test this theory, unless one thought they might survive being hit by a multitude of bolts simultaneously. So the ravens continued to flock to this tiny cove unnoticed not only by its hidden location, but also due to the present situation in the Abarat.

On Gorgossium, the total destruction of Inquisit by Mater Motley was in high progress. The Todo miners toiled throughout the undying midnight packing clay pile upon clay pile with the purpose of rebuilding a new Fortress. The black rock that grew out of the soil of Gorgossium, forming a massive dark forest, was being uprooted by giant monsters that had until recently hidden within the boulders dark shadows. This was indeed construction on a grand scale worthy for only the highest of monarchy. As Carrions towers lay in ruins, Mater Motley sat in the only remaining tower, the thirteenth tower, around which the new empire would be built.

Motley was consumed by her glorious reconstruction and of course by her need to keep sewing her Midnight army of clay filled Stitchlings. Even in the chaos of the present Motley sewed with unnerving ease, still talking to herself in her ancient tongue of her plans to come. Her chanting came to an abrupt halt when one of her stitchlings entered the door.

"Your Highness" exclaimed the stitchling as he bowed before her

"Have you any news yet?" Motley demanded

"In all reports and rumors your highness it is of common knowledge that your grandson is truly dead. News has come all the way across the Abarat that the girl, the one from the hereafter, witnessed his final demise."

Mater Motleys eyes showed little expression, their snake slits barely giving notice to the nervous fidget of the news bearer.

"So it is still possible that he is alive?"

" Possible but highly unlikely as he was barely alive when seen by the girl. He was apparently destroyed by a giant wave shortly after."

"If there is any hint or trace of him being alive, no matter how insignificant you think it be, I want to know immediately."

Motley said, her voice growing in tone.

"I cannot afford to take risks from news across the abarat."

"Yes your highness."

And with that the stitchling was dismissed leaving Motley to contemplate the news of her grandsons' death. A widened and wicked smile passed across her face, as if the thought had bought her a moment of pleasure.