Chapter Eight

“Why now, when you've clung to your miserable life for so long?”

 

Ilaki turned the spit, roasting a freshly skinned human bicep over the smoky flames, occasionally brushing pats of butter over the surface. Humming a low tune, she turned toward Leshin and leaned back against the flagstone chimney behind her.

“It never gets easier,” she said, affecting a cheery smile. “It’s the craziest thing—you’d think I’d be used to it by now.”

Leshin shook her head as she tossed a saucepan of fresh onions and garlic over the flaming stove. “You can do the sauce if you want,” she said as she took a flask and drizzled a little extra olive oil over the savory mixture. “I can take over the roast.”

“No,” Ilaki said. “No, I think I’ve got it…”

“Shift’s ending soon,” Leshin commented. “Shina and Mikele’re gonna probably show up any second now.”

Ilaki shrugged. She went back to her brushing, then stared up at the vaulted stone ceiling. “You ever wonder how your folks are doing?” she asked. “What they’ve gotten up to since we left?”

Leshin didn’t say anything. She just kept on tossing the onions, waiting for them to caramelize so she could add the cream and flour.

“My mama’s probably at the market,” Ilaki said. “She gets fish and taro and breadfruit and wheat kernels every day, right around now. Every single day. Just enough to make dinner. And she spends the rest of the day grinding the grain in that awful little hand mill of hers. I always tell her to just buy flour, but… well, I suppose she’s a bit of a miser.”

Leshin nodded along, trying to relate to Ilaki’s experiences. As much as she always tried to put herself in the shoes of those who fell on the wrong end of the Sorting, she knew she’d never fully understand—after all, the Lower Sort lived in a different world. Coming from a family that enjoyed a comfortably higher Sorting, Leshin had never even heard about money until she was in her mid-teen years. Just from seeing the stockiness of her body, the darkness of her eyes, the tawny tone of her skin, merchants would give her whatever she asked for without asking for compensation, as was their duty. Only once she’d learned of her place in the world did she begin to notice how those same merchants would cringe as she approached, dreading that she’d drain their stores without paying them—and they were right to fear her for that. Even though the Lower Sort produced almost every scrap of food on the island, they had no legal right to it. Without money, they would starve.

While the lowest of the Higher Sort wanted for nothing, even the highest of the Lower Sort often found themselves on the brink of starvation during the winter months. And then, there was Leshin. Aware, but impotent. Complicit without consent. No matter how much she tried to remove herself from the privileges of her higher Sorting, she would never escape it. In a way, she knew that, rather than wishing she hadn’t been born with privilege, she ought to use her power to elevate the Lower Sort to her own level. But she had thrown it all away. And even if she hadn’t, she couldn’t change the world on her own. In the meantime, she’d get to live in the lap of luxury while her comrades suffered in the slums. What could be worse than an activist who refused to suffer alongside her allies? Surely, if the Lower Sort had to live in squalor, she deserved to experience the same pain, right?

Hence, her hovel on the edge of town. Still, she couldn’t feel content with her misery. One lingering doubt haunted her. A young woman—someone more precious to her than she had ever let anyone know—had once told her that her squalor didn’t make anyone happier. It didn’t change anything. It just made her sink into herself, losing everything that made the world feel colorful. In fact, her voluntary suffering was nothing short of appropriation.

At the time, Leshin had disagreed. But now… how things had changed.

“Do you have any other family?” Leshin asked.

“Oh, yes,” Ilaki said, rolling her eyes. “Seven younger siblings and thirty cousins, all under the same roof.”

Leshin smirked. “Longhouse?”

“Longhouse,” Ilaki said. “As long a house as a longhouse can be.”

“Bet it wasn’t long enough.”

“Not at all. My sister Kulina would come crashing through the door, and she’d have ten little cousins nipping at her tail and dangling from her arms, and they’d all be shrieking and squabbling, and you wouldn’t even have enough quiet to think.”

Snorting, Leshin pictured the scene, imagining Ilaki screwing up her face the way she always did, groaning and bolting out the door.

“You never think you’re gonna miss it,” Ilaki said. “Never.”

“Yeah,” Leshin said.

“We did a lot of your average sub-Guild work, back then. Papa would go off and lift Sling-scaffolding for the Thatcher’s Guilders—he’d look so parched by the end of the day; you could practically see the cracks in his skin. Slinging for that long with hardly a cup of water per hour—it should’ve killed him, but he hung on. And Mom would sweep the streets late at night, clean all the mess from the cobblestones, all that. She’d come home and just… stare at the walls, grinding wheat, half-asleep for the rest of the day.”

Leshin nodded along. Back in the day, she and her comrades would harass Guild construction crews as they “renovated” Lower Sort housing districts. “Renovation,” of course, being a fun euphemism for “demolition.” So, the gang would go out and burn timber piles, split foundation stones with chisels, and shuck water on the contractors who Slung the scaffolding in the air, sending the Guildlings tumbling to the ground. Absently, she wondered if she’d ever happened to sabotage Ilaki’s father as he held his masters aloft. Those workers often got the whip, even though they weren’t at fault.

“I can’t imagine how hard that must’ve been,” Leshin said.

Ilaki just shrugged. “It’s life.”

“Shouldn’t be.”

For a second, Ilaki flashed her a slanted smile. “Well, I’m glad you agree.”

The two locked eyes, a strange sort of understanding flickering between them. But then, someone cleared their throat behind their backs.

Leshin jumped, yelping. Looking behind herself, she found Shina, that oddly tall, quiet girl looming overhead, clasping her hands behind her back. “Hi,” Shina said, her husky voice practically inaudible.

“Hey, Shina…” Leshin said. “Shift change?”

“Y-yeah,” Shina said. She stood there, awkwardly staring at the two. “So…”

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Leshin looked the girl up and down, squinting. She really was tall. Taller than any woman Leshin had seen before. “Mikele coming soon?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Shina said. “I mean, she’s doing… hall stuff.”

“That how you split it?” Leshin said. “She does the cleaning, you do the cooking?”

With a quick nod, Shina slipped in front of Leshin and started sauteing the onions and garlic in her place.

Ilaki looked between the two of them, cocking her head. “Is she still holding to the Sorting? Is that why she has you cooking on your own?”

“I don’t…” Shina looked away. “I—um…”

“Mikele and Kilini just don’t fucking get it,” Leshin blurted. “I mean, it’s such bullshit, right? We do biweekly cleaning shifts already—what does she think she’s doing? Just leaving you to do all this shit on your own… What the fuck is wrong with her?”

“Please don’t say anything to her,” Shina said, whipping around and staring at Leshin with frenzied eyes. “I’m okay. Please.”

“Alright…” Leshin said, shrugging. “But we can’t keep on doing this shit. How are we supposed to fight God if we’re all still fighting each other?”

Flicking her tail, Shina turned around and started idly minding her saucepan once more.

Something was off about Shina. Leshin turned around and wandered out of the kitchen, avoiding the dining room and its horrific suits of armor, lest she weep blood for a third time that day. Ilaki scampered behind her, fiddling with her own tailfin as she caught up to Leshin.

“What’s going on?” Ilaki said.

“What?”

“You keep staring at Shina. Every time we see her.”

Leshin shrugged. “I dunno. A bit of an oddball, that one.”

“She’s just shy…”

“Very, very shy,” Leshin said. “Weirdly shy.”

“You’d be shy too, if you grew up like she did…”

Stopping in place, Leshin puzzled for a bit. “What?”

Ilaki looked back at her fellow priestess. “What?”

“Did—did you know her?”

“Yeah? Why? Did I not mention that?”

“No! I thought we were all strangers!”

“Of course I knew her! We practically grew up together.”

Leshin gaped at her. “I’m sorry, I’ve genuinely never seen you two speak to each other.”

“I mean…” Ilaki glanced off. “It is a bit awkward, you know, working with your ex.”

“Yeah, yeah, I bet,” Leshin said, smirking. She took a step forward, cracking her neck.

Then, she froze.

“I’m sorry, WHAT?”

 

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