Chapter 39: 46-47. Rain // Rumors

Rorri

 

Almost there…

Rorri’s legs could not bear his weight any longer. He managed to stumble into a narrow backstreet, where the sun did not quite reach the ground, and collapsed onto a splintering crate, quivering, shivering, gasping for breath. He had never wanted to die before, not really, but the noise, the pain, the hunger, the thirst, the light, the constant, high-pitched screeching in his ear… He wanted it to end. He needed it to end. He would do anything, anything, for it to end.

 

A gruff voice echoed above him. Craning his neck, he saw only a formless shadow looming over his crippled body. It took him a second to realize the shadow was speaking Human. It repeated itself. His brain turned over, reaching into its recesses to understand…

“Need an umbrella, sweetheart?”

Rorri laughed. He couldn’t help it.

 

We have very sensitive skin…

 

“Ungh…” His throat fought for control of his voice. He’d done this a thousand times. He knew what he needed to say.

“Speak up, boy,” the shadow spat.

“Wh...whot…” He panted, struggling for breath. “Whot… zhe whezzer… is today…?”

For all his practice and Bilge’s guidance, he never could correct his accent. The shadow snickered.

“Rain all night,” it said.

“Rain…”

A web of lightning pulsed behind his eyelids, splitting his skull. He jerked and cried out, clutching his head.

“Six inches over the—”

“I don’t care…” Rorri breathed in Elvish, already rifling through his coat pockets, scrounging up any change he could find. “Anything… I don’t care…”

His vision crossed, dark and blurry. He didn’t know how many coins he pulled from his coat, clattering in his trembling hands, but in that moment it didn’t matter. He held out his fist and dropped it all into the shadow’s palm.

 

*******

 

The Rain soothed Rorri’s pain enough to get him home.

Finding the house empty, he breathed a sigh of relief. He couldn’t bear to face someone in his state, to answer questions about things he had not yet allowed himself to think about. Despite the blue flower’s effects, he was exhausted, and starving. He found a half-loaf of stale bread and devoured it, then drank through all of the clean water he’d kept in his room, but he still felt dried out, like he’d washed ashore days ago, a dead fish shriveling in the sun.

Something whizzed past, something in the corner of his eye. He spun around, heart palpitating, but there was nothing there. Of course… Probably just a mouse, or a rat. He breathed out slowly, pressing himself into the wall—

There!

A shadow at the edge of his vision skittered around like a bat. He turned to face it, but it was gone. A cold, sick miasma rolled down his back. His legs wobbled, as if the muscles weren’t properly bound to his bones.

He shut his eyes and shook out his head. It was fine. He hadn’t slept properly, and he was a little hungover, but it was fine. His eyes fluttered open…

Something was very wrong. The hallway stretched. The kitchen shrank. The doors breathed. The air itself thickened, and the darkness kept moving, where little shadow-skinned people teased and taunted him. He flinched each time one approached, shutting his eyes and jerking away.

“Shhh – it’s okay – I’m okay – I’m j-just a little high, I need a nap, it’s – It’s fine, It’ll be… f-fine…”

He pushed his fingers into his neck, counting each beat of his pulse. It hammered away – badumbadumbadumbadumbadumbadum—

“Too fast… t-too fast…”

He paced, hopped in place, and spun around, anything to keep moving. To be still was to feel the strain on his heart, the sweat on his skin, his empty breath – to be still was intolerable. He had to move, but he had nowhere to go, and nothing to do. A squeaky whimper escaped his lips.

“I shouldn’t have – I sh-shouldn't have done that – shouldn’t have d-drank that much—”

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He squeezed his eyes shut, sucked in air through his teeth.

“Idiot, idiot, idiot, what is w-wrong with me?”

He wanted to go outside, take a brisk walk, but he was terrified of running into the Guard, terrified of being found out, arrested and executed.

“Too much – it’s too much – it’s t-too much – too much, too much, too much…”

Adar and Bilge could come home any second. Rorri whimpered again, covering his head. Something had changed. He wasn’t the same person, or, at the very least, this wasn’t the same place he’d departed from the day before. How could he face his housemates, knowing everything was all wrong, and they had no idea?

“Shhhh – it’s fine, we’re friends, w-we’re all friends, it’s fine—”

But were they? Did they even like him, or were they just humoring him? Maybe they did like him well enough, but he couldn’t understand why. What was it about the way he acted that tricked them into enjoying his company? He had to remember so he could mimic his ‘normal’ self when they arrived, so he could make sure they knew that there was nothing wrong – even though everything was wrong – It wasn’t fair to make them worry. They hadn’t done anything wrong. They shouldn’t suffer for his idiocy.

He tried to remember their last conversations. He needed a reference point for how he should behave, for what ‘normal’ was, but it all seemed so long ago. Did he talk to them the day before at all? No, he’d been running around the city all day. He saw Bilge briefly on his way out and they said hello to each other, but that was all.

Rorri wheezed as if he’d just run a lap around the Portal, every inch of his skin crackling with magic – magic he didn’t know what to do with, magic he didn’t really know was there—

There!

He saw the shadow, he was sure of it, but it disappeared. But it was there, he knew it was there, something – someone – was there, but… He whimpered, breathing into the cavity of his fist.

Shit shit shit shit shit!

Shacia was late. He didn’t know what she was late for, but she was late for something, and someone might be upset about it – she was certainly upset – and if someone was upset about it, they might investigate why, and if they investigate why, they might find him, and if they found him—

“No, no, no, it’s fine – p-people are late for things a-a-all the time – it’s fine, she – she’s fine…”

The night’s memory flooded his mind, dark, smudged, and torn. It streaked past so quickly, he couldn’t catch it. It slipped through his hands like water, leaving only a cold, damp trace of what it was. He wanted to remember it fondly, but it was as if the memory itself had been stomped on by someone’s muddy boot.

“Idiot – I’m an idiot…”

He clutched his head, dropped to his knees, and curled up, rocking and twitching – then he shot upright and zipped the window to look outside, to see if they were coming—

There!

A shadow zoomed past – A person, he was sure it was a person—

There!

The door creaked open. The shadow-people – he knew what they were. He knew what they wanted. They were the smoke that followed him from Belethlian, the life he left behind, the memories he fought to forget every single day. They finally found him. It was over. They had him cornered in his own home, and there was nowhere else to run.

 

Pak

(The City)

 

Rumors spread. The Duén are scheming. They could burst out from hiding at any time to enact their nefarious plot to take over Iridan, or burn it down, or murder civilians, or whatever. People keep their eyes on the shadows. After all, where else would the dark elves hide? The air is putrid with tension. Even in empty streets, it reeks from inside their homes.

My crime is self-evident. People know. They always have. Gray elves don’t exist on their own. Even if my skin isn’t as dark as the Obsidian, one does not need a formal education to deduce which two colors mix together to make me. Every time I step into the street, I risk being caught. It doesn’t matter what I do. Their eyes are on the shadows. They need only to pull up my sleeve or pull down my hood to know what I am.

 

How far will the city go? What if they start knocking down doors?

If they find me here…

 

This is my last act as Kano’s protector. I can’t let him suffer because of me. I gather what belongings I can fit into a light pack. It’s not much – a change of clothes, a book, a bar of soap. I summon the weapon. Pip. I send it back. Pip. I creep out the hidden door, and Cabbage follows closely, purring just to soothe me. He never liked Kano much, but… he knows.

I ignore what’s happening behind my eyes. My face remains still, but a tear breaks free. It navigates the ridges of my scar, snakes down the curve of my jaw, trickles past the apple in my throat. This is it. I have to go. I can’t let him suffer because of me.

I don’t leave a note. I don’t say good-bye.

I cut the thread.

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