Chapter 5: 5-6. Snow // Say it

Rorri

 

Rorri jumped, shaken from his sleep by sharp, fast banging on his door.

“Wake up, mate!” Bilge shouted. “Oi! Wake up, ‘simportant!”

His bones creaked, his neck bent as if it had been molded of clay, stepped on, and left to bake in the sun. Every muscle in his body was stiffer than the floor he’d slept on, and each inch he had to conquer to rise from his sleep was so painful, he thought maybe he’d give up on standing altogether.

“Ay! You’s alive innare?”

Rorri rubbed his eyes. It took a great deal of energy to parse through the strange human’s atrocious accent, and so there was a significant delay in his response.

“…Yes,” he answered. “One minute, please.”

“Wot, gotsta git on yer make-up?” Bilge brayed, but the taunt had lost its teeth by the time Rorri figured out what the human actually said. “Y’got pants on, mate?”

“No!” Rorri said, heart skipping as he scrambled to get dressed. The door flew open, narrowly missing a brutal impact with the forest elf, and hit the wall with a loud FHUMP.

“Ha!” Bilge pointed. “Knew you was lyin’, ya cheeky bastahd!”

“I wasn’t lying, you ass,” Rorri grunted, yanking his shirt down, the heat draining from his face.

“I gotsa job fer ya,” Bilge said in a hushed voice. Rorri’s brow dipped.

“Um… Okay?”

Bilge cleared his throat. “Yer a little bloke, looks light onyer feet, yeah?” He leaned in close. “I needs me someone wot can fit inna tight space, ifyer followin’ me.”

An uncomfortable pause ensued. Rorri narrowed his eyes.

“…Are you coming on to me, now?” he said. “Look, I’m flattered, but—”

“Wot? No!” Bilge sighed and pressed his forehead into his palm, muttering a string of what Rorri assumed were Human obscenities. “Look – let’s jus’ start from the top, then, ay?”

“Uh… Sure.”

“Right,” Bilge said. “So, I work on the docks, directin’ the boats. I bring ‘em in, tie ‘em up, make sure nothin’ goes floatin’ back out…”

And just like a wayward boat, Rorri’s mind began to drift. Bilge’s voice faded, and his eyes lost their focus as he contemplated purchasing a lock for the door. Rorri was very protective of his privacy, but how much would such a thing cost? Surely, it wouldn’t be too hard to find a lock-peddler, but the difficulty would come in actually installing it. He’d never done anything like that before. Perhaps whoever sold the locks would also install them, though he wondered if that might come at an additional charge. Maybe, then, it would be better first to invest in a bed, but none of it would matter if he didn’t secure a means to generate coin—

“Oi!” Bilge snapped. “Pay attention!”

Rorri jumped. “Yes, sorry,” he said with a weary smile.

“As I was sayin’,” Bilge huffed, “it’s mostly just imports we get in from the Shimma’s, an’ if we’re bein’ honest, that whole company’s got a terrible reputation fer…” He paused, seeing the glazed look in Rorri’s eyes. “Fergodssake, mate!”

“Sorry, sorry, I’m just—” he yawned, covering his face. “I’m still really tired, and… it’s just difficult to grasp all this…” He gestured aimlessly. “This.”

Bilge hummed and rubbed his chin. “Right, fine,” he grumbled.

The human plucked a strange flower from his breast pocket, revealing it with a light twirl. “This’ll perk ye up,” Bilge said, then tossed it to the forest elf, who flailed, but managed to catch it. He yelped as the plant’s thorns drew a bead of blood from his finger, shooting a glare at his housemate. Nevertheless, he licked the blood away, pained, yet intrigued. The flower was surprisingly heavy. Its six petals looked puffy and white, but they were dense, like tiny mushroom caps, with blue pistils reaching out from its core, as if beckoning him in. He sniffed it, wrinkling his nose at the sour, uninviting odor.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” he asked, eyeing Bilge suspiciously.

“I prefer eatin’ it.”

“The whole thing?”

“Ay, or a petal atta time, if yer a wuss,” Bilge said. “Wot’s that look fer, anyway?”

Rorri sniffed the flower again with a grimace. “I barely know you,” he mumbled. “What’s it called?”

“Well I don’t know the proper name if that’s wot yer askin’,” Bilge said, “but out ‘ere it’s called Snow, or, if yer really lucky, Rain – same thing, jus’ more blue, but that shite’s hard to come by. Jus’ lighten up an’ eat it, mate, so I can get on about the bloody job, ay?”

Rorri fiddled with the flower, careful to avoid the thorns on its stiff, serpentine stem. “Okay… But what does it do?”

“Already told’ja mate, it’ll perk ye up,” the human said with an oily grin.

The forest was ripe with mind-altering plants, and Rorri was no stranger to such experiences – in fact, indulging in the native flora had always been one of his favorite pastimes – but this was new, and that made him nervous. Still, his curiosity got the better of him, and he made his decision with far less hesitation than was probably wise.

“Oi, don’t eat the stem,” Bilge cautioned as Rorri brought the flower to his lips. “That bit’ll kill ya.”

Rorri’s eyes flashed wide, he bit the head of the plant clear off its base as if racing to beat his better judgment. He chewed it slowly and deliberately, intrigued by the vaguely meaty texture of the petals. Suddenly, an acrid, bitter flavor flooded his mouth. He retched and nearly spit it out, but, never one to waste, he forced himself to swallow through the tears welling up in his eyes.

“Ha!” Bilge clapped Rorri on the back, nearly knocking him over. “Shoulda seen yer face!”

“That was awful,” Rorri shuddered, suppressing the urge to spit. A sickly film spread over his skin, and his stomach churned, foretelling what punishment awaited him. “Ugh… You’d better not be lying to me.”

“’Course I’m not lyin’, ya sod,” Bilge barked. “Jus’ give ‘er a minute.”

Rorri huffed and belched, doubled over. He could feel the flower sizzling in his stomach, its fumes still searing his sinuses and the space around his eyes; even his brain burned, forcing sweat through his forehead. He coughed, teetering, his chest tight, holding his breath hostage, squeezing curses from his throat. But, a minute later, as Bilge promised, the nausea subsided, and in its wake came a sudden, delightful surge.

A cool breeze whispered into his lungs, swept out into his toes, his fingers, and the crown of his head, raising goosebumps on every inch of his skin. It sped into a sharp, crisp gust, hastening the blood in his veins, whetting his mind to a point. He inhaled sharply, blinked rapidly, and exhaled slowly to even out the fluttering in his chest, tumbling into a giggle instead.

“How’s it comin’, mate?”

“D-do you remember that thing I said a second ago, about that, that, that – about that being awful? Well, I take that back – Ha! I-I mean, the flavor was awful, but otherwise, it was – this is, just, just – I love it!” He took a deep breath, grinning, not realizing how fast he was talking. “What was that about a, about, erm, a-a job?”

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“Nice, nice. I’ve been, ah… contacted, by the wench wot runs the Bloodkith Brewery. ‘Er name’s Balifra. Hearty ol’ bitch, that one, prob’ly three times your size an’ twice mine!” He laughed, though an odd expression, somewhere between fear and admiration, glossed over his face. “Uh… Anyway, somebody tipped ‘er off that there’s a bit a’ smuggled herb—”

“H-hang on,” Rorri interrupted. “Aren’t you supposed to be a refugee?”

Bilge rubbed the back of his neck. “Ay, well—”

“Because if – if you’re a refugee, and you came in yesterday like I-I did, there’s no way you should have a job, or ‘contacts’—”

“Shhhhh!” Bilge took a step forward, giving Rorri a hard, wide-eyed stare. “Don’t talk so goddamned loud, ay? Walls are thin here—”

“That’s true!” Adar called from the tiny kitchen across the hall. Bilge rubbed his forehead, cursing under his breath, his face bright red.

“To answer your question,” he said, “in dire circumstances, sometimes a man gotsta take on a new role in life—”

“Won’t have to if you don’t get caught!” Adar chimed in again.

“Piss off!” Bilge shouted over his shoulder. “Fergodssake, d’ya want a job or not?”

“I do, I do,” Rorri said, snickering. “Please, continue.”

Bilge clasped his hands together and exhaled slowly. “Right, then.” He stiffened, as if preparing to be interrupted again, but Rorri waited patiently. “…So, there’s a bit a’ smuggled herb wedged b’tween—”

“W-what happens if we get caught?”

“GODDAMMIT!” Bilge bellowed, throwing his hands up. “Stop interruptin’—!”

“I need to know the risk before I agree to anything,” Rorri said, bouncing in place. “And it’s better to know now, you know, b-before you waste your breath on telling me everything, isn’t it?” Bilge stayed silent for a moment, visibly fuming.

“…Agh!” He kicked at the air and paced a step towards the door. “Fine. We get caught, it’s the stocks. I know a fella wot might be willin’ to help us start a new life, but…” He looked Rorri over from head to toe. “Might have some trouble foolin’ anyone yerself, given there’s none too many Woodies in the city…”

Rorri pulled his lips back in a scowl and opened his mouth as if to protest.

“Don’ worry mate,” Bilge said, “it’s a simple job. Wouldn’t have you riskin’ yer tail on yer first day here, ay? Jus’ gotsta squeeze inna dock alley an’ find the brick it’s hidin’ in – quick in an’ out, an’ I’ll be ‘round the corner the whole time.”

Rorri chewed his cheeks, clenching and relaxing his jaw. He obviously didn’t want to get caught, but he clearly needed the money, and he couldn’t begin to imagine where else he might find a job. And Bilge didn’t seem worried about it, so…

“A-alright,” he finally conceded.

Bilge grinned. “Atta boy! I knew I ‘ad the right sense about ya—”

“Can I come?” Adar appeared just behind Bilge. The human jumped, cursed and stumbled away.

Rorri cracked up laughing. The Snow coursed through his body like horses in a field. He felt more awake than he’d felt in decades, more amused than he’d been in eons. It seemed his new life was beckoning him to charge in with abandon, and he had no reason not to. He welcomed the distraction with open arms – anything to keep his mind away from home, he didn’t care how dangerous it was. Anything was better than that. Anywhere was better than there.

 

 

Pak

(Grandmother’s House)

 

“SAY IT!”

Grandmother’s spit spatters on my greenish-gray skin. I flinch. My throat locks up, like my mouth is full of sand. My spirit mutes the world around me as I depart from my body, fleeing her hot breath…

I am a child.

“SAY IT!”

I whimper and shut my eyes. She slaps me hard across the cheek, the CRACK ringing between my ears for seconds after.

“Look at me!” she hisses, grabbing my face. I force my eyes open, force them to stare into the void, the bottomless pits of her pupils. She raises one hand, and I think she means to slap me again, but the hand combusts, flames licking her bony fingers. She grips my cheek tighter.

“Say it,” she commands one last time, her fiery palm hovering close enough that I feel its heat scraping my ear.

“I…”

Her eyes widen, reflecting the fire like soulless glass orbs.

“I… K-k…”

I shut my eyes again.

“Killed…”

 

Here, there is only a small stretch of darkness where the memory should be.

 

I return to my body, to burnt hair and tiny embers scattered on my clothes. I slap them away, gasping and whimpering in harmony with the smoldering and crackling. When I look up, Grandmother is gone. I slump forward in a heap. I don’t understand.

 

(I’m too young to understand.)

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