by Sharon Lee
An’ more than his baking improved the shop. He’d brought in two more hot-pots, each with a different kind of tea—one fruity and light, and the other grey and energizing. Her pride was piqued at that, and she ordered in a better grade of coffeetoot, for them that had the preference.
Luzee saw that people wanted to linger over their sweet and their cup, so her and Binni Bodyne went together to get some old tables from down the cellars up into the street, then wheedled a hand o’kids, including one of the Wayhousers, to scrub ’em clean.
Erb Fliar come down to see what all the commotion was about, went back inside his place, an’ a half-hour later reappeared, holding a bolt of red-and-white checkerboard cloth.
Well, Pan Jonderitz knew just what to do with that, din’t he just? An’ while he was doin’ that, Luzee organized another hand o’kids to clean the windows and wash the walls, and by the time it was all done . . . din’t it just look fine?
Better’n the place lookin’ fine, and bidness bein’ up, Don Eyr was making a good impression on the neighbors, and the kids were, too.
The best sign she saw, though, was the afternoon she walked to the door to close up for the day, and there was a confusion of kids running ’round the street, armed with snowballs—street kids, Wayhouse kids—all of ’em shouting with laughter.
The only oil on the ice was Roe Yingling.
If he came into the shop while Don Eyr was on counter, he turned on his heel and left. He quizzed her on each roll, cookie, and cupcake to find which’d been made by them and flatly refused to try any of it—even when a sample was offered for free, which was just unheard of.
Worse, he didn’t see any reason why they should move into the old catering house. If they needed more space, they could find some other street to live on. Sleet, they oughta buy their own damn place up on a hill somewhere; everybody knew the newbies was rich. Look at the Road Boss, bringing his own damn house with him, on account of nothing on Surebleak was good enough!
Well, fine, they could do what they wanted—somewhere else. Chairman Court hadn’t asked for ’em, Chairman Court didn’t need ’em, Chairman Court was better off without ’em—and that, by sleet, was exactly what he was gonna tell the council’s circuit rider, next time she was by.
Algaina shook her head.
Roe was only one voice, after all, she told herself. There was still the whole rest of the street who liked Don Eyr and his kids just fine. All they had to do was say so.
Everything would be fine.
• • • • • •
The house was noisy when he and Velix entered, having done their shift at Algaina’s shop. Not merely noisy, thought Don Eyr, stopping with his hand on the lock, head tipped to one side—jubilant.
He stood, listening, Velix at his side, until one voice rose above all the others Velix was off, running down the hall toward the gather-room, shouting, “Fireyn!”
Hope flared in his breast, so fiercely he could scarcely breathe, yet somehow his feet were moving, not quite Velix’s headlong flight, but quickly enough that he was in the room before his heart had settled; sweeping in, gripping an arm, wringing a hand, taking in the familiar faces of his kindred-in-arms, those who guarded the children with him—
“Ail Den,” he murmured; “Cisco. Fireyn—”
He stopped, searching faces gone suddenly still. It was Fireyn who gripped his hand, and Ail Den who caught him ’round the shoulders, even as he whispered—
“Serana?”
“No,” Cisco said, voice rough, his face thinner, worn, and wet. “Old friend, no. We were separated. We searched, we checked; the mercs counted out their wounded, and the dead . . . Serana . . .”
“We lost her,” Fireyn finished. “We had hoped . . . she was already with you . . .”
He took a hard breath, ears roaring; an edge of darkness to his vision. All three of them closed ’round him in a comrade’s embrace, while he gasped, trembling, and saw . . .
. . . the bright palace of his hopes crumble beneath the weight of truth. Crumble, flicker, and die.
• • • • • •
“So, that inflatable tent we found in the cellar when we went down to get the tables?” Binder cuddled against her chest, Luzee was talking to the crowd pushed in as tight at they could be, some sitting at tables, some standing ’round the walls.
“Well, that tent was special made for the year-end block party. I got all the information right here!” She raised the binder over her head and shook it like a bell.
“Happens that The Chairman threw a party for all the Grade Six an’ belows, at the end of the fiscal year. It was s’posed to increase morale and team-buildin’. I showed this to the Lady and to the Perfessor, and they both said that one of the things that pulls people together is a shared holiday. They was wonderin’ if us here on Chairman Court wouldn’t like to follow the directions in this Human Relations manual, and throw a block party. The Bosses’ll be invited, to see how it works out, and might be next year, Surebleak entire’ll have a block party, and . . .”
Algaina went into the back and pulled out a tray of cookies. Spice cookies, they were. She’d made an extra batch for the meetin’, which was good, because there wasn’t nobody, always exceptin’ Roe Yingling, who didn’t like the spice cookies.
But it was also a bad thing, because they reminded her of Don Eyr . . . who hadn’t been in to the shop for more’n a week, which was bad enough. Worse was the notion that he wasn’t baking, neither.
“Don Eyr is . . . ill,” Ashti had told her. “He will come again when he is able. In the meanwhile, two of us will come to you every day, to give you rest, as we have been doing. We do not wish to stint a neighbor.”
Stint a neighbor? Algaina thought, and—
“How sick is he? Can he bake?”
“He . . .” Ashti had closed her eyes and taken a deep breath. “I regret, not at the moment. None of us has his touch with chernubia or the other small sweets. We may continue to provide rolls; several of us are proficient.”
“Rolls, yes; that would be good—people like the cheese rolls. But—I don’t want to meddle—should he see a medic? Or I could come and take a look—”
“Our medic has rejoined us,” Ashti said. “She is watching Don Eyr very closely.”
She’d managed a smile then, shaky, but true.
“He is dear to all of us, as to you. We will not lose him.”
• • • • • •
He ought to stand, he thought, for the dozen dozenth time that day. He ought to leave this room, and be sure that all, and everyone, was well. The children needed—but no.
Ail Den, and Cisco, and Fireyn were home. The children had no further need of him. He was free to leave, to strike out again alone, as he had wished so often to do, when they had first come into Low Port, on a day-job.
Day-job. What use was he on a day-job? But, there, his delm had called him home, the least of the clan’s children, to fulfill a debt owed to Clan Arba. The terms of settlement required an agent of Clan Serat to hold himself ready at all times to fulfill those tasks Arba required of him.
Serana had come with him; his bodyguard, as she explained herself, which Arba found to be a very fine joke, and so it had been the two of them, sent down to clear a newly-inherited parcel in the Low Port.
Clear it of debris.
They had not understood the nature of the debris until they arrived at the corner they were to clear.
Eight children and one barely past halfling; their leader, who had promised them safety, and, judging by his grip on the piece of pipe he had chosen for a weapon, was prepared to die for his word.
Together, the three of them cleared the area. He and Serana, they had thought they would establish the children safely, give their protector advice, and such small funds as they held between them—a few days spent, only that.
They had been fools.
Over time, they had gathered to themselves, to their service, other fools, and so the children were kept safe.
&
nbsp; Serana had died, to ensure their safety, and he—
He heard the door open; raised his head, and took a breath. It was Ashti, perhaps, come to tempt his appetite, or—
“Donnee?” came a high, sweet voice, followed by Elaytha herself, unruly hair braided; cheeks plump; eyes wide and bright.
“Ah, shintai. Donnee zabastra kai.”
“Elaytha,” he murmured. “Welcome home, child.”
“Welcome home,” she repeated in a tired, flat voice, and climbed into his lap, putting her arms around his neck, and leaning her forehead against his.
“Donnee is filled with light,” she said, in a voice he did not recognize. “Shintai goventa.”
• • • • • •
Jax Ton was in the kitchen, eating soup. Velix, at the stove, immediately filled another bowl, brought it to the table with a mug of tea, and slipped away, leaving them alone.
“Ail Den told me,” Jax Ton said softly, rising. “Al’bresh venat’i, brother.”
They embraced, cheek to damp cheek.
“The child is a Healer?” Don Eyr asked, when they sat again to the soup.
“The child will be a Healer,” Jax Ton corrected him. “She shows some early ability, which, while unusual, is no cause for alarm. She has received instruction in controlling her gift, and also in its best use.”
He cocked his head.
“I would say that, so far, her training has been adequate.”
“Indeed. However—trained in best use, young as she is?”
“As I understand it, once a gift has manifested, it cannot be denied. So, yes. As young as she is.”
He spooned soup; looked up.
“The Healers will want her back with them for a full evaluation and training on her twelfth name day. In the meanwhile, they have Healed her of most, if not all, of her terrors. My challenge lately has been to feed her enough.”
Don Eyr smiled.
“They did not Heal her of talking nonsense.”
Jax Ton moved his shoulders.
“It is, according to the Healers, not an affliction; it causes her no distress; and creates no impediments for her in daily life.”
“Ah,” said Don Eyr, and pushed his empty bowl aside.
“What other news do you bring me?”
“Boss Jilzink’s associate has taken Kevan to ’prentice. He will learn the art of resource reclamation from Esser Kane, who has several teams working for him, and sees in Kevan a future leader of a new team. Master Kane is well and favorably known to the Employment Office. Kevan will tell you all, when he comes home on his day off.”
“Soon, we will be scattered all over Surebleak,” Don Eyr said, not without dismay.
“Children grow up,” Jax Ton said, and reached to catch his shoulder in an affectionate embrace. “This is what you set yourself to do, brother, and I will tell you that there is not a morning that I wake in which I do not thank the gods, should they exist, that it was you and Serana who came that day. I had promised to keep them safe, but you—you kept my honor for me.”
“You do me too much—”
“That is not possible,” Jax Ton said firmly, letting him go.
“I have one more piece of news, which may not be so delightful as I had hoped, as Ashti informs me that you have given over baking.”
Don Eyr looked at him.
“Perhaps I shall begin again, if the news is of interest.”
“Well, then, I bring it forward at once! There is a baker in Boss Conrad’s territory, with an established shop, who is interested in adding Liaden delicacies to her offerings. I may have shared one or two of your chernubia with her. If you would be willing to provide these to her, non-exclusively, she will pay you a percentage of the profit, and will seal the contract with a portion of her mother-of-bread.”
• • • • • •
The block party hadn’t been much of a spense to The Chairman, Algaina thought grumpily. Management provided the tent, and some prizes, and—all right, bought the beer and the desserts. Most everything else, though, was made and brought by the guests. Eating each other’s food and trading receipts was s’posed to be good for morale and team-building.
There were games set out in Luzeal’s binder, and a timeline of how things were s’posed to go. F’rinstance, there was a space o’time put aside where everybody said what their best accomplishment had been in the last year. An’ another space o’time when the year’s just-borns were called by name.
An’ a space o’time right at the beginning of the party where everybody stood in a circle, and said outloud the names of those who’d died during the year.
Algaina’d made a batch of almost everything in grandpa’s receipt book, and had the neighbor kids moving them out of the shop the second the tables went up inside the tent. For drinks, Erb Fliar’d promised to put out tea, ’toot, juice, an’ beer—light beer, he’d added. No sense anybody getting stupid.
Algaina was pulling on her bright green sweater, which was too good to wear in the bake shop, when the bell over the door rang.
She turned around, and there was Ashti, and Elaytha, and Jax Ton, and Velix, all carrying a tray of chernubia, each one looking different.
She looked at Jax Ton.
“He’s better?”
“Better, yes.” Jax Ton smiled and nodded at Elaytha. “He said to tell you that the chernubia on that tray are made from carrot, and kale, and cheese.”
She laughed, in equal parts relief and fun.
“Well, that’s just fine. You come with me and we’ll get them set up in the tent.” She looked at each of them, sharply, in turn.
“You’re all comin’ to the party, now?”
“Yes,” Ashti said. “All of us are coming to the party. We are sent ahead with the trays.”
“Good,” said Algaina, and added, believing it for the first time since Luzeal had decided on having a block party; “it’s gonna be fun.”
• • • • • •
Don Eyr closed the sack, and crossed the kitchen for his coat. The others had gone ahead, leaving him to pack his contribution to the shared meal alone.
His offering—his personal offering—to the goodwill of their neighbors was bread—a small loaf for each. He had also made a loaf—one loaf only—of Serana’s favorite: a crusty, chewy round, with a dense, nutty crumb.
Coat on, he shouldered the sack and left the wayhouse. It was snowing, densely, diffusing the tent’s glow into an iridescent fog.
The street was filled with the sound of voices, and laughter, and for a moment, he stood, frozen in the snow, every nerve in his body marking Serana’s absence.
A deep breath; a memory of the light Elaytha had given him. Serana was here, because he was here; her memory, as her life, a benediction.
Centered, he walked the short distance down the street, then out of the snow, into the bright warmth of the tent.
“I ain’t sitting here with them!”
Roe Yingling’s voice soared over the pleased chatter of those gathered.
“They invaded our planet! They took our jobs! They ain’t really people! Sure, they want a party, let ’em have their own party, and let us real ’bleakers alone!”
Carefully, Don Eyr put the sack down on the table by the door, and moved across the room, toward the man confronting Jax Ton, with Ail Den and Cisco flanking him, and the others spread behind.
“Roe,” that was Luzeal, moving between the angry man and the children. “These are our neighbors. They don’t stint the street, an’ nor do you, nor anybody here! We’re neighbors, we depend on each other.”
The man threw his hand out, pointing at Elaytha, who had stepped out from behind Jax Ton.
“It ain’t bad enough that they don’t belong here, but they’re broken, too! That one can’t even talk!”
That brought a hush, shortly broken by a quiet voice.
“I can talk,” Elaytha told him, evading Jax Ton’s hand, and walking forward until she stood before the man in all his anger
. She glanced at Don Eyr as he arrived, near enough to kick the man’s legs out from under him, if he dared try to—
Elaytha smiled and looked up at Roe Yingling.
“You can be more happy,” she said. “You don’t need to be angry. You don’t need to always want to be mad.”
“Why you—” Roe Yingling began—and stopped, a perplexed look on his face.
“What do you know about what I want?” he said, at a somewhat lesser volume. “Newbie can’t know what I want. Strangers can’t . . . How can I tell you what I want?”
“Don’t you want to be more happy? You came to the party to be more happy. Have a chernubia, or a cookie. What do you want? Which?”
The crowd closed, listening. Elaytha leaned toward him, hands in a gentle gesture of request, eyes locked on his.
“What I want is . . .”
It seemed to Don Eyr as if he swayed.
“Roe?”
A woman came out of the crowd, glanced at Elaytha, and took the man’s hand.
“I’m sorry, missy,” she began; “he’s a good man, but sometimes he don’t think before—”
“What I want is,” he tried again, his face losing tension, “is a reason to be happy. Can you understand that?”
Ashti stepped around Jax Ton, bearing a tray of chernubia. She paused at Elaytha’s side.
“A reason, yes,” Elaytha said. “Please, take a sweet. Be happy with the day. Be happy with your neighbors. You will feel better—”
Don Eyr felt that last strike hard against his chest; the child was performing a Healing, here and now? He held his breath as she plucked a flower from the tray, and offered it to the man on upraised palm.
“This is very good, made by my brother. Please, take it. Be pleased with it. Do not be mad at everything, and you will not hurt so much! Look, we have a party. The neighbors have a party. Better is now. For your friends, be happy.”
He stared down into her face, then, like a man in a dream, he took the chernubia from her hand, and ate it. A long sigh escaped him; there was no other sound in the room.
“Roe?” his wife asked, putting her hand on his arm. She looked down at Elaytha, eyes wide, and Don Eyr tensed, even as Luzeal stepped up, taking each by an elbow, and turning them toward a table at the side of the room, where two children were watching, eyes wide.
