Chapter 25: 30. You Haven’t Heard?

Rorri

 

A young human guard stepped out of the outhouse, still fastening his belt. He sniffed, glanced up, and froze, his eyes wide, bright white against ashen-brown skin.

Rorri smiled and waved a meek hello, despite his pounding heart, despite the panic crackling across his surface. The guard – smooth-faced, not a hair on his chin – slowly, shakily reached for his weapon.

“No!” Rorri cried in Human, lunging forward, just a step. He dug deep in mind for any Human phrase at all, wanting only to delay or confuse, but nothing came to him. The guard unsheathed his sword, revealing its shiny, green-tinted blade, visibly quivering. Rorri’s stomach churned. He raised both hands, palms out, and took a step back. The young man barked in Human, took a few uncertain steps forward. Rorri’s heart leapt into his throat, and with every beat, it ascended another rung – it boomed, quaked, shook, screamed for him to do anything, anything – and as the image of Shacia’s empty study found the space behind his eyes, Rorri bolted for the fence, skirting just to the young man’s right.

The guard swung. Rorri ducked, but the sword still caught his shoulder, tore through his coat and grazed his flesh enough to draw blood, and an intense jolt of pain. The pain throbbed, billowed, and sharpened with his pulse until he felt it all over, even in his eyes, in the pit of his brain. It couldn’t be an ordinary sword. It shouldn’t have hurt that much.

Time stretched. This couldn’t be happening. He had to do something. He couldn’t get caught. He refused to let it end like this. He’d never forgive himself.

Rorri was already in motion, twisting towards the boy, their faces mere inches apart. Their eyes met – just for a moment, just a fraction of a second – but that was all it took. Rorri’s pupils opened, pressing against the borders of his irises, until they feathered into the sclera, like drops of ink seeping into a sheet. With one desperate thought, he discharged the magic he’d unwittingly stored in his head.

 

Y O U N E V E R S A W M E

 

The thought came as a silent thunderclap, sending them each tumbling back. The guard lost his footing and fell to the ground, dazed, with a vacant look in his eyes, as if the light behind them had been snuffed out. Rorri turned and fled, not knowing what he had done.

He scrambled up the fence, cleared the spikes, and took Adar’s coat with him, donning it as he ran to cover the suspicious bulk in his silhouette. Once he was a safe distance away, he ducked into an alley to breathe. A wave of nausea sloshed in, forcing beads of sweat through his skin. He shuddered and retched, but he couldn’t throw up the dense sense of dread that stewed in the coffee and Snow.

 

Do you understand, Mr. Tipón?

 

*******

 

Rorri dropped Adar’s coat in the hall, staggered to his room, and flopped onto his bed, blood seeping from his wound, soaking into the sheet. His skull screamed. His eyes throbbed. After a few restless minutes, he launched himself upright. This wasn’t the time to lie down. He had so many things to do.

He emptied his pockets onto the bed to be sorted later, then carefully peeled off his coat, wincing as the fabric pulled at his skin. The pain from the wound was beginning to surface over his waning headache. It hurt like it went deep through the muscle, burning with every tiny movement, but it looked fairly shallow… Had the guard’s sword been coated in poison? No, no, that was absurd – the poor man barely knew how to hold it. Rorri shook his head, cursing under his breath. The Snow was probably amplifying the pain. It couldn’t be more than that.

Parched, he zipped around the house, looking for anything at all to drink. He could have sworn he had a full canteen somewhere, but it eluded him. No matter how many times he checked the cabinets or around his bed or behind the door, it wasn’t there. Bilge probably had alcohol hidden somewhere in his room, but he didn’t want to deal with the fuss he’d cause by rifling through it without permission. Even Adar’s room was dry, and he was the sort to always keep water on hand.

Helpless, Rorri slumped over in the kitchen chair, clutching his head, shivering, cursing. He locked his eyes onto the deep gash in the kitchen table, but he just couldn’t shake the image burned into his mind…

 

…the bright, bright whites of the young guard’s eyes…

 

*******

 

“Dear god, what is that smell?”

Adar plodded by the kitchen, dripping with every step. Rorri rubbed his eyes, squinting at his friend.

“Why are you w-wet?” he asked. “And naked?”

“I’m not naked,” Adar corrected, gesturing at his underwear. “But I couldn’t come home wearing that dress, now, could I? And I had to scrub off your make-up, which was just absurdly difficult to do…” His voice trailed off, eyes narrowing on Rorri. “What happened to your shoulder?”

“Cut it on the f-fence,” Rorri grumbled. “Spared my balls, though.”

Adar chortled, but his gaze lingered on the wound. Rorri shifted uncomfortably, trying hard not to wince at the pain.

“Sounds like everything w-went swimmingly on your end?” he said, desperate to change the subject.

“Pretty much, I think? I might have broken Bilge’s nose, but otherwise…”

“Wait, really?” Rorri snorted. “Can’t imagine he’ll be t-too happy about that.”

“Yeah…” Adar sighed and shook his head. “I swear it was an accident. I don’t know my own strength.”

“I believe you,” Rorri said. “Hopefully the, uh… earnings, w-will cheer him up.”

“Is that what that smell is?” Adar turned towards Rorri’s bedroom door, sniffing intently. “Ugh. It’s awful.”

“And valuable.” Rorri went to sling his arm behind the chair, forgetting his shoulder, and the movement ripped the cut open where it had congealed. He lurched and cried out in pain. Adar dashed to his friend’s side and gingerly took his arm. Rorri tried to resist, but the pain that came with pulling away made it impossible.

“Rorri… you haven’t done anything to treat this, have you?”

“I couldn’t f-find anything to clean it with,” Rorri grunted. “It’s fine, it’s not that deep.”

“Seriously? It hasn’t even stopped bleeding yet!” Adar gave a heavy sigh. “Alright, just stay here. I’ll get on some clothes and get the first aid kit, and we’ll fix that right up.”

As he disappeared around the corner, Rorri had a panicked realization: if Adar inspected his wound any further, he might discover the lie.

He didn’t know if a fence-wound would look any different from a sword-wound, but Adar was smart, and Rorri was a terrible liar. He couldn’t risk being found out. And, if his friends knew what he was hiding, they would be that much more complicit in what had happened, losing all plausible deniability if the Guard did come after him. Beyond that, he didn’t know what sort of rash decisions they might make to cover it up. Especially Bilge…

Rorri shot upright, darted to his room, and fumbled for the bundle of Snow he’d stashed in his coat pocket. Hands shaking, he plucked out a single flower and hid the rest under his bed, then shrugged on his coat and stumbled back into the hall.

“Did you still want to tell me that secret thing you were talking about?” Adar called just as Rorri was reaching for the front doorknob. He hesitated, mouthing a slew of self-deprecating curses, before he answered with as much levity as he could muster.

“Sorry – later, maybe – I forgot, I’ve got a thing I need to do – I’ll be back tonight!”

With that, Rorri fled the house, leaving no room for Adar to protest his foolishness. He disappeared down to the Portal, seamlessly blending in with the late morning crowd…

…as Bilge passed him by unnoticed, still covered in his own blood.

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Adar was standing alone in the hall with a towel around his waist, first aid kit in hand, when Bilge barreled through the front door.

“Oi, is that for me? How sweet of ya,” he spat, pushing past Adar to get to his room.

“This was for Rorri, actually. Did you see him on your way in?”

“Wot?” Bilge reappeared, holding a bottle of clear liquor. “Wot’s he need it for?”

“He sliced his shoulder pretty bad.” Adar sighed and paced to the kitchen, dropping the kit on the table.

“Prob’ly nicked it on the fence,” Bilge mumbled. “He’ll be fine, he’s a big boy. I, on the otha’ hand—”

“I know, I know, I’m sorry.” Adar rubbed his face, exasperated. “It was an accident.”

“How the hell d’ya punch a bloke’s nose in on accident?” Bilge uncorked the bottle and poured it over his face, gritting his teeth as the blood washed away.

“I used to run an underground bare-knuckle boxing ring,” Adar explained. “It’s just muscle memory, I guess.”

“You fuckin’ wif me?” Bilge said, giving him a hard, flabbergasted stare.

“Why would I lie about that?” Adar countered.

“…Actu’ly explains a lot,” Bilge mused, gazing off towards the window. “Well, woteva mate, jus’ set my nose latah, ay? Let’s see the kid’s work.”

“You mean you can’t smell it?” Adar said. Bilge glared at him, lip curled, then turned away, muttering under his breath. “Oh – right, sorry. It’s in his room, I think.”

Bilge sloshed across the hall and threw Rorri’s bedroom door open. Adar poked his head in from behind him, but immediately recoiled, fanning the air in front of his face.

“’Oly shit, mate…” Bilge gaped. Adar paced away with his hands on his hips.

“Did you know it was going to be drugs?” he whispered, agitated. “I was really hoping it would just be weapons.”

“I had an inklin’,” Bilge said, ignoring Adar’s disapproving sigh. He bounded forward and rifled through the packages, eyes shining with excitement. “Mate,” he giggled, “we’re gonna make so much money!”

“Well, that’s—”

Adar’s breath exploded from his lungs as Bilge smothered him with a hug.

“Get off – seriously,” Adar grunted, struggling to escape. “I am done with hugging today.”

“Ha!” Bilge released him, sending him stumbling. “Where’s Rorri gone off to, ay? I need t’buy him a pint, or woteva the lad wants, he’s earned it!”

“No idea,” Adar said, rubbing his arms. “He said he’d be back tonight.”

Bilge took a charcoal stick from the box of dirt beside Rorri’s bed and set about scribbling a crude ledger onto one of his half-finished drawings. Adar leaned against the wall, losing his gaze in the black scorch mark on Rorri’s door. He shook his head.

“You really ought to let me set your nose, though,” he said, wandering off to find another towel. “Or else it’ll heal crooked.”

 

*******

 

After an hour of searching, Rorri found the spot where he and Adar had escaped the scene of their first crime together, an enclave on the shore, well-hidden and littered with garbage and empty crates. He slogged to the water’s edge and knelt, dampening the knees of his pants. He still needed to wash his wound, and, he figured, the ocean was probably cleaner than the river.

Exhaustion crept upon him as he watched the foamy waves, as if the tide meant to pull his eyelids shut. He fumbled for the Snow in his pocket. As hungry as he was for sleep, he couldn’t seek it there, and if he wanted to get back home when he was done, he had no choice but to let the Snow shake him awake. He brought the petal to his lips, stomach souring at the smell, and hesitated…

A gruff voice behind him barked something in Human. Rorri stashed the Snow away, turning to face the source – a dirty old man with long, scraggly hair and leathery, sun-roasted skin, sitting on an overturned crate. He must have been there the whole time.

“Uhn…” Rorri wrinkled his face, grasping blindly through his brain-fog for the Human words he needed. “S-sohree… Ohnlee... s-speek Elfish?”

“Oh, tha’s aw’right!” the human seamlessly replied in Elvish. “Ovva one spoke ‘uman, bu’ tha’s aw’right. Oi, is you the ovva one’s bruvva?”

“Uh… I… I’m sorry, what?”

“I saw me anovah brown elf this mornin’,” the man croaked, smacking his lips. “Came down ‘ere an’ got in the wotah, jus’ like you. I told ‘im, ‘I ain’ nevah seen a brown elf befoh’! An’ e said to me, ‘e said, ‘An’ ya still ‘asn’t, y’ol’ codger!’” He guffawed, slapping his knee.

Rorri blinked. “I don’t—”

“An’ then ‘e went an’ scrubbed ‘is skin off! ‘E was silvah all along, swea’ on me mum, bastahd painted ‘imself up t’ look like wunna you woodie types! Still gots ‘is dress ova ‘ere.” He reached behind the crate and pulled out Adar’s sand-covered Widow dress. “Tol’ me I could keep it, migh’ try it on meself, latah. Ya fink I’d be pretty innit, mate?” He laughed the gravelly, guttural laugh of a decades-long smoker, as Rorri sat in stunned silence.

“…I—”

“You’s ‘is bruvva, then?” the man croaked, abruptly ceasing his laughter, and leaned forward. “Wotcha got undah there, ay?”

Rorri chortled uncomfortably. “I’m not—”

“Relax, lad, I’m jus’ messin’ wif ya!” He laughed again, spittle flying with every half-choked breath.

Reasonably certain that the old man was simply insane, Rorri turned back to the water and took the Snow from his jacket. This time, he ate it without hesitation. Compared to what he’d had earlier, it barely registered on his tongue, and it did not satisfy – it merely staved off his inevitable crash – but, that was all he was hoping for.

“Y’can’t be too carefu’, though, ay?” the craggly human grumbled. “Wot wif ‘em Du-én sneakin’ aroun’…”

Rorri’s heart stopped.

“I ‘eard they caugh’ one aw’ready – s’posed ta be hangin’ ‘im in the square tomorrah…”

The Snow’s stem fell from his fingers, swallowed by the water. Adar’s voice clattered between his ears…

 

You mean you haven’t heard?

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