Chapter 40: 48-49. Fine // The Eastern Gate

Rorri

 

“There you are.”

Rorri jumped and spun around, stumbling backwards into the wall. When he saw who it was, he forced a casual laugh, feigning that he was simply startled. Adar eyed him warily.

“Y-you scared the shit out of me!” Rorri said, smiling as he fought to steady his breath. “You’re always s-so quiet!”

“…Right,” Adar said, shuffling past Rorri to set his groceries on the kitchen table. Rorri fixed his eyes firmly on the gray-green paint splattered on the floor.

“So, um, h-how have you been?” Rorri asked, sticking his hands in his pockets, shoulders creeping into his neck.

“Good,” Adar replied. “How was your date?”

“Oh, that? It was l-lovely,” Rorri paced towards the table and peered into the bag, chewing relentlessly on the inside of his cheek. “They had one of those f-flushable toilets at the inn. That was, just, wow, I’ve never seen a-anything like it!”

“I bet.” Adar leaned in close, maneuvering to glimpse Rorri’s eyes. “How is your tutor?”

“Good – she’s, she’s good,” Rorri said hastily, backing away. “We t-talked about cats, it was nice. Um, d-did you get any bread? I finished the last bit in the c-cabinet.”

“You really ate that?” Adar wrinkled his nose. “God, that’s been in there for…”

“Yes, well, the stomach wants what it w-wants!” Rorri tittered. “Hey, d-do you have a cigarette?”

“You know I don’t smoke,” Adar said. “Are you alright, Rorri? You seem a bit—”

“I’m fine, s-sorry,” Rorri said, scooting past the silver elf. “I’m just h-having a craving, is all – I’m just really c-craving a smoke, that’s all!” He dug through his pockets, then, coming up empty-handed, darted into his room, nearly kicking his box of dirt across the floor.

“Do you have s-some change I could b-borrow?” he called as he rifled through his old clothes, then rummaged about his mess of drawings and trash. Finding nothing, he shot upright, tousled his own hair, and bounced in place – just for a second, while no-one was looking.

“I just spent the last of mine.” Adar peered through the kitchen doorway, but Rorri had hidden himself behind his door. “You know, I’m here if you need to talk…”

“I appreciate that!” Rorri squeezed his eyes shut. “I’ll keep that in m-mind, but really though, I’m f-fine!” He breathed a long, slow, painful exhale, then emerged from his room.

“I think I’m going to s-skip out for a bit – Nico still owes me a smoke f-from last time—”

“Wait, before you go…” Adar popped into the hallway, partially blocking the exit. “Bilge wants us to meet him at Balifra’s, said she’s got a job for us.”

“Oh, good!” Rorri cheered, inching his way past the barricade, bobbing his head to avoid Adar’s scrutinizing gaze. “I’ll d-definitely be there! Just give me an hour or two, I’ll b-be there!”

“Rorri—”

Pretending not to hear him, Rorri flew down the street. He zoomed through the city as if he had a purpose, but all he really wanted was a place to hide.

 

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Pak

(The City)

*******

 

I make my way to the eastern gate with my hood up, my sleeves down, and my eyes glued to the dirt. I asked Cabbage to meet me outside the Wall. He’s too conspicuous to travel with me through the streets with the sun still up. There aren’t as many guards out during the day, I reason, and the gate is open to merchant traffic. This would be the best time to leave, wouldn’t it?

As I cross into the Wall’s shadow, a guard halts me with his gauntleted palm, eyes barely visible through the slits in his visor. He asks me for my papers. It’s a new protocol, he says. The Duén threat is growing. Anyone leaving the city must present proof of Iridanian citizenship, or be detained under suspicion of espionage. The fear in his voice hums through the air, the spirit in his every word… He sees what I am. I don’t have papers. I wasn’t aware that most people do. Somehow, in my decades or centuries of life, the subject never came up. Why should I have a paper to prove my existence? Wouldn’t it be a bit obvious to send me as a spy?

The guard’s hand quivers above the pommel of his weapon. I have turned to stone, incapable of movement or speech. Sweat collects at my hairline, drips down my neck. It’s a warm day, but my hands are cold as ice. A crowd curdles at the gate, murmuring, whispering. My skin is mostly covered, but still, they speculate. The guard sees my face. He knows. They know. Everyone knows.

He demands papers again, louder. The earth buzzes. I can’t feel my feet. I terrify them, even in my stillness, in this petrified state, I terrify them. I just wanted to leave in peace.

I focus on a pebble, ball up my fist, and keep completely still. I want to disappear…

Someone behind me shouts.

“Reveal yourself!”

I know how it looks. They think I’m frozen for fear that I’ve been caught. In a way, I suppose I am. A rock hits my thigh. Then, another. The crowd hedges out the guard. They sling obscenities, accusations, demands. Their voices mix with the dust and stick to my skin. I whimper. The whimper drowns in the sea of angry chatter.

 

I want to go back…

 

I whip around to face the strange, childish voice—

But someone snatches my wrist.

 

*******

 

I had once checked out a book on self-defense, complete with pictures and detailed instructions. Kano and I used to practice the techniques all the time, knowing that we would need them some day. Knowing I would need them some day.

When someone grabs your wrist, you face your veins to the sky and step away in one quick, perfect arc, pivoting on your heel. It doesn’t matter how tight their grip is or how white their knuckles go. The hand is not strong enough to hold through that simple maneuver. Just twist your wrist and step away. It was my favorite trick. We practiced it enough that my muscles committed the motion to memory. I’ve never needed to use it. I stay hidden, even in crowds. I distract and disappear.

Why couldn’t they just let me disappear…?

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