by S Kaeth
A commotion ahead grabbed her attention. A group of boys—none of them were Eian—laughed and tossed a rag doll while a young girl danced from boy to boy crying, “Give her for me!”
Compassion struck her heart as the laughter of the boys echoed out into this uncaring world. It appeared no one else would teach these children proper behavior—or proper grammar. Pushing back her self-pity, Kaemada approached. Every child turned wary eyes on her, and the boy holding the doll hid it behind his back.
“You sound upset, little one.” Kaemada kept her voice soft as she spoke to the girl. She tilted her head to the side and feigned ignorance as she asked the boys, “Might any of you know how we can help her feel better?”
“Go off,” said one, and even the little girl backed away, her face filled with fear.
“I cannot simply leave someone so upset.”
“Go off!” Hugging herself, the girl twisted from side to side.
Kaemada frowned for a moment, the children’s thick accent throwing her off-balance. She took a deep breath and tried again, shifting to take some of the weight off her injured leg. “I—”
One boy spun and raced away from her, and the flurry of his action jarred the others loose from their fear. Another boy shoved a third toward her and took off in a different direction. In moments, the children had vanished, leaving the doll lying trampled in the mud.
Kaemada watched them, puzzled by their bizarre behavior. She picked up the doll, brushing the mud off it as much as possible. She’d lost Eian’s doll during the fight and her fall.
She had to force herself to breathe and focus on less painful thoughts. These children were filled with distrust and anger. Her heart ached for them. They should be in a kaetal, cared for by all the adults there, instead of… wherever this was.
“Oowih what you think you’re doing?” A thin woman with short brown hair peeking out from under the fabric she wore on her head stood in an alleyway, frowning at her.
Kaemada scrambled wearily to her feet, blinking at the use of the Rinaryn question word in front of a question in Traveller’s. It was wrong, even if she’d spoken in Rinaryn, since “oowih” was only used in front of yes or no questions. Still, this was the first person to openly acknowledge her in this place. “Ameyitum, but I only woke up over there by the wall a short while ago.”
The woman looked her up and down. “Hmph, they did get you, too. Should fight to shelter before nightfall.”
“Fight?” Kaemada faltered, bewildered by the woman’s brusque manner and strange accent. “Please, I do not know how I got here. Where am I?”
The woman glowered at her. “City of the Lost.”
That couldn’t be right. “Please.” Desperation filled her voice. “I’m searching for someone. Perhaps you can help me.”
“Find someone else for bothering.”
“He’s only a little boy!”
“He’s no my concern!” The woman plucked the doll out of her hand and stalked away, quickly passing out of sight.
Shoulders slumping, Kaemada watched her go. This was certainly not the City of the Lost. That would make everyone here Fallen, and she was not Fallen. There were children here; there wouldn’t be children in a city for the worst criminals. Besides, she hadn’t entered the gates. She hadn’t been banished. And if this was the City of the Lost, there was no escape. She did not belong in the City of the Lost. No, she would find Eian, and Eian would be alright. Then they would need to rush to make it to the Feast of Starfall in time. Ra’ael would be furious with her if she missed it.
Deal with the here, not with the maybes.
She nodded to her imagination’s impression of Tannevar. It was comforting, even though he wasn’t actually there. Was she going mind-sick? She wasn’t sure it mattered.
Kaemada glanced up to check the sun. The sky would darken soon. With a sigh, she continued walking along the wall. The houses went on forever. Her stomach growled in earnest and her mouth felt sticky. She was beyond thirsty. Clinging to hope that was increasingly fleeting, she forced herself to smile and properly greet every person she met with a “Betah” and asking everyone she could about Eian and Tannevar. Few acknowledged her, and even then, only with a gruff “No.”
Her spirits sank along with the sun. Her side ached. Her bandages needed changing, but she had nothing to replace them with. Her thoughts began to dwell on the feeling of her bond with Tannevar snapping, enduring the pain and sudden solitude over and over. Each time, it took longer for her to push the memory away, and it returned after a shorter time of peace. Despair lurked like a predator stalking its prey.
As twilight deepened, the cramped streets became deserted. Silence blanketed the city but for the occasional scuffle as people scurried into houses.
“My house,” cried a man a short distance ahead of Kaemada as another man tumbled out the doorway. He glared at Kaemada and slammed the door shut. The man who was thrown out stood up and looked furtively around, then scuttled away. At a loss for what to do, Kaemada followed.
They hurried through alleys and across streets until, at last, they came to what looked like a pile of blankets. On closer inspection, she saw it was a pile of people—men and women huddling close together under a blanket that was much too small. The man dove into the pile, which erupted into much kicking, elbowing, and squirming until everyone was as settled as they could be. Filled with uncertainty, Kaemada hovered, gaining herself baleful looks in return. They needed more blankets.
Rinaryn took care of each other. She took off her cloak and held it out to the nearest person, a woman with dirt covering her thin face. The woman considered her with mistrustful brown eyes, then snatched the cloak away and ducked her head under it so she was completely hidden. The mass of people heaved and surged, squabbling over the new fabric just as they had the old one. Finally, the squirming settled.
“Stupid,” observed someone from behind her.
She whirled to face the speaker, an old man, trying to calm her surprise. “Where would we be without compassion?”
“Alive.”
Kaemada smiled. “Worry not about me—”
The old man snapped, “No plan of it!”
He slammed the door shut and latched it. She stared at it, lost, as if some current were carrying her away, and she knew not where. What kaetal didn’t share resources in the planting, growing, and harvest seasons so all may survive and prepare for the freezing season?
As the last light faded, the song of the Angels drifted from the sky. Angels. Of course. She scanned the street, her heart pounding. The houses were shut up tight, and what cover there was outside the houses had already been taken. Those huddling in the streets watched her with unwelcoming stares. With no cloak to hide under, what chance did she have? She regretted giving it away, though guilt twinged at her for that regret.
Kaemada pressed her back against the wall of a house, squeezing her eyes shut. The haunting song of the Angels grew louder. Though not as loud as it had been that night with Eian, the multitude of Angel voices created an overwhelming demand. Her will eroded like a soft riverbank in the spring floods. Kaemada covered her face with her hands and fell to the ground, curling up tightly, focusing her will on one simple thought: do not look.
The sound enveloped her, pulling at her, calling to the very depths of her being. Steps shuffled nearby, those who were answering the call. She shivered. Desperately, she longed to give in, even though she knew it was death. DIf she looked, she would have no hope of finding Eian. With that thought, she cried out, just as Eian had, “We mean you no harm! We are not for eating!”
Her voice joined the cacophony of people crying out in senseless terror. The song went on and on. It surrounded her, became her whole existence.
The ground came up and hit her, pain shooting up her wrist when she landed badly. She shook her head, carefully pushed herself into a sitting position, and looked around, confused. She was not where she had been hiding from the Angels. The Angels! She gasped and covered
her eyes, but there was no song. She was safe.
Relief flooded her with such strength that nausea rose in her. She sagged against the house beside her, eyes closed, breathing away tears as she tried to sort out what had happened. The last thing she knew, she had been fighting the song of the Angels.
She got to her shaky feet, turning in a slow circle. She was still in the city, but somehow she’d travelled a good distance. The stars still held their place in the blanket of the sky, but the moons had set. Exhaustion dogged her stumbling steps, and she realized she had several new bumps and bruises.
“No surrender for the Angels’ song often, or you’ll be Angels-food.”
She spun around to see a man, looking as bedraggled as she felt, crouching in an alley.
“What happened?” she asked. That was a stupid question. Obviously, she’d looked. “Why am I still alive?”
He rolled his eyes. “Fall too often for the Angels’ song and sense will no come back for you. Angels-food. Pale faces, staring eyes, stand like statues or shuffle around like No-mind—you no miss them.”
“Stop noising! Trying for sleep,” grumbled another man from under the cover of blankets.
She shivered. Angels-food. She couldn’t run from the horror, but she moved anyway, wandering in an exhausted daze. Eventually, she collapsed against a house and slept fitfully, lurching upright in terror whenever anyone came near.
When she woke, the sun shone cold and distant. The dirt paths of the city and the walls of the houses gleamed with condensation from dew and morning fog. The stench of filth clogged her nose. The morning glory of the sun’s fire burning away the water in the air—the sacred three combined—was absent here. The fog didn’t burn away, it just died. She missed the thick dew that would rise on the grasses and wet her feet as she walked in the morning. She missed the way the fog wreathed the great tree trunks of the forest. She pushed away the thoughts of home and her grief, as if she could force her spirit to lift. But she could hardly stand, much less focus her mind.
She stared at the glimmers enshrouding the homes. She was so thirsty. Careful not to think about what she was doing, she licked the walls of one dirt hovel after another, chasing the precious sheen of moisture. With her broken fingernails, she gouged as much mud off her tongue as she could, but it was not enough. It would never be enough. This city, with all its suffering, was inside her now.
As she soothed her thirst, she avoided the people of the city, giving a wide berth to the doorways. The people, in turn, paid as little mind to her as they did to each other, each ignoring the others as much as possible. Only now and then did she see children, and they vanished upon seeing her. On the faces around her, she saw many emotions, but not a hint of hope or joy.
Once she could think of something other than her thirst, she took a deep breath and straightened her back. She took stock again. She was starving, and she needed to find Eian, Taunos, Ra’ael, and Takiyah. She was trapped here in this heartless place where Angels hunted and left their prey behind. Kaemada drew another deep, shuddering breath, shaking off despair. She would not curl into a ball and weep. She wouldn’t even think it. No, instead, she would give thanks for living through the night. She had that, at least. Her life.
She forced a smile and clung to what she knew, greeting everyone she passed with a “Betah” or “Betah teimelei”—her own little rebellion against the horrors of this place. She only received distrustful looks in return but wandered on systematically, looking for Eian and hoping against all reason to feel the tug on her soul that would mean Tannevar was alive and nearby.
The city was laid out around a wide road that led from the gates, guarded by enormous statues which knelt like a pair of men with huge eyes, hands folded in their laps, wings swept upward, and stern, scowling faces. Chills ran up her spine as she gazed on them. The Great Statues guarding the City of the Lost. She turned her back on them, wishing she could shut out the truth so easily, and walked the main road running from the gates into the city. After much of the morning, the road split into two. The fork she followed led to a wide, open expanse of dirt around which stood several stalls selling all manner of things from food to needles, thread, leather, cloth, and wood.
In the center of the space, a large statue of a man reached one hand to the heavens, his hooded cloak billowing around his form in some imaginary wind. Around the base, crumbling rock formed a broken ring. Near one foot, a shaft dove deep into the ground, and a rope dangled into the hole from a post mounted above it.
Tired and aching, avoiding any thoughts that might lead to the despair waiting just around the corner in her mind, Kaemada hunkered down at the edge of the space to rest. Questions did not serve her well here, and she was tired of drawing the ire of these people. The weight of the fears and needs and wants and agonies all around her would surely have crushed her mental walls had her psionics been working. Even so, she trembled under the strain of it all, seeing the desperation and longing in faces everywhere she turned.
The sight of dry, hard loaf of bread caught her eye and her stomach grumbled, even with no aroma to entice her. Around her, people bartered for goods or offered small pieces of metal to those behind the stalls. All she had were her clothing and boots, but she needed those.
A man snuck toward the statue, then pulled the rope, bringing up a bucket filled with precious water. She leaned forward to get a better look.
“Thief! Guards! Guards!”
The man at the stall beside her raised the alarm, and everyone else in the square quickly picked up the call. Armed men in leather armor came running, but not before the man took off, diving for the safety of a cluster of houses nearby. The people scrambled, frantic to stay far away from the guards, even those who had raised the call. One old man was too slow getting out of the way and the guards trampled him. Kaemada clamped her hands over her mouth, staring, then scrambled over to the man. Her hands trembled as she felt the damage to his broken body, the unconscious elder struggling for each breath.
“Where is his family? Who takes care of him?” she cried.
“Take money or go off!” a young man nearby scolded.
Kaemada recoiled, staring at him.
“Not help to him. But my family still lives!” He shouldered her aside and she fell to the hard-packed dirt.
The old man drew his last breath while the younger man rifled through his pockets, pulling out a pouch. He presented it to a man standing near the statue, then pulled the rope, drawing up a bucket from the hole near the statue’s foot. The well.
Kaemada scrambled away, horrified. The man behind the stall glared at her. “You need adjust for life here. Newcomers always try for make things better. Truth is, sooner you accept, easier it is for us. It no draw the guards on us.”
“Life does not seem very easy here to me.”
To her surprise, the man laughed long and hard. Kaemada edged cautiously away, but the sounds of his amusement followed her. She quickened her steps, wrapping her arms around herself to hold her last, dying shred of hope inside. The City of the Lost. At last, not even her own stubbornness could block out the truth. She walked among Fallen.
She squeezed her eyes shut. There had to be a way out. She refused to accept that she was trapped in this nightmare forever. If anyone could find a way to her, it was her brother, Torkae’s great hero. Taunos would save her. And he’d enjoy it, too, all the attention and acclaim.
Except he didn’t know where she was.
She trudged along, forcing out her muttered “Betah”s to those she passed. She had become used to the lack of response and no longer expected one. She stopped questioning others about Eian, for now, she hoped not to find him, that he was not in the city to find. Stumbling along, she no longer had a goal in mind, but couldn’t stop moving, so unnerved was she by the events in the market.
Long after midday had passed, she looked up to see a sparkling stream, tall trees laden with fruit, green bushes rich with various berries, vines climbing trellises, and fiel
ds of grains and vegetables. She swayed, dizzy with hunger and thirst and heartsickness. Beyond the fields squatted a large building, which she assumed to be some sort of storehouse. Paving stones—what must be the other fork of the main road—led away from it.
People passed by without giving the fields a second glance, though they were wasted with hunger. It was perplexing. Not even children, dirt-stained and skinny, ventured into the fields to help themselves of its bounty. Some distance away, small groups of people labored to bring in the harvest, watched closely by men in armor. No songs were raised to lift spirits through the hard work, no cheery conversations helped to pass the time. It was eerily quiet.
She hesitated. Finally, she reached high to pluck a ripe fruit from a tree at the border. As she strained to reach, people flooded away from her, pushing and shoving each other as they raced toward a grey stone tower at the edge of the field. She wavered. This must be taboo, somehow, or the others wouldn’t be fleeing. And yet, it made no sense that eating when hungry would be wrong.
“Best hurry,” said a woman’s voice behind her. “Hurry!”
She spun around but saw no one, only the flap of a torn blanket at the edge of a house as a wayward breeze lifted its tattered edges. Kaemada ran to the house to peek around its corner and caught a glimpse of the edge of a cloak disappearing from view around yet another corner. She chased after, but by the time she reached the crossroads, the figure was gone. Who was she, and why had she warned her to run?
Filled with dread, Kaemada gulped the fruit, wiped her mouth, and crept back to the field, peeking out from behind the houses. Guards strode through the fields, their weapons at the ready and their faces grim. A crowd of people, the people who had run away from her, followed a short distance behind, their faces nervous but hopeful.
“No reward,” snapped one of the guards to the crowd. “No criminal, no reward.” He sneered at them, and the crowd hastily went their separate ways, many casting furtive glances over their shoulders at the guards.
