by Colby R Rice
"No you didn't!" Manja giggled. "Your food's yucky!"
Zeika smiled and rolled her eyes. "Way to make your big sister feel like a champion."
She had barely pushed the chicken sandwich up to Manja before she snatched it up and started eating like a barbarian. Zeika filled two glasses, one with cold water and one warm with salt, and put both of them down for her. A quick rummage back through the medical kit and their fridge produced a crude icepack for Manja.
We have to get to Guild Five.
Zeika clenched her jaw, unsettled by the thought. She hadn't planned on swinging by there for at least another week, but in Manja's condition, they had no choice. Her right knee had already begun to swell. It wouldn't be long before the left knee followed.
She looked at Manja, who had put her sandwich down. The bite marks in the bread were pinked with splotches of blood. Zeika forced her eyes closed, the decision cemented. They didn't have a choice.
She took the holstered field knife out of her bag, and for a long time, she gazed at it.
More dangerous to be without it, she decided finally, and she jammed it into the sash around her waist. She started towards the tail of their hut, to grab some last few things— and practically slid to a stop as a tall body stepped out of the shadows.
The body didn't belong to her mother. It belonged to a man… and it wasn't her father either.
Zeika snatched her field knife from its holster, brandishing it. "STOP RIGHT THERE!"
She could hear Manja turn in her chair, but Zeika focused her eyes forward into the darkness. The figure kept walking towards her, casually even, and a chuckle rolled out of his mouth as he stepped into the light.
"A little paranoid today, aren't we, honey?"
Greasy smile, slicked back silvery hair, and a rolling gray gaze put a familiar face to the voice. Salvatore Morgan. Ombudsman, Representative, and Azure tax-collector for Demesne Five.
The first Monday of the month. It's tax day, and you forgot.
Zeika felt the tension in her muscles melt, but as the adrenaline washed out of her senses, her frown only deepened at the man standing before her. The awkward pitter-patter of unsure feet echoed out from behind him as Zeika's mother skittered out from the back, clutching the thin bathrobe around her body.
"Zeika, what in Christ's name are you doing?!" Mama's eyes were wide with fear. "Put that thing away!"
Lips taut, Zeika slowly slid the field knife into the holster at her back. "Excuse me," she muttered. "I didn't know we had… company."
She made a face at the frazzled state of her mother's hair, and then she saw them, chalky smudges that lined the skin under Mama's nose. They sloped, forming arrows pointing towards her mother's swollen and pathless gaze.
"Mama!" Behind them, Manja jumped out of her chair and hobbled over to their mother, arms wide. "You're home!"
"Hi darling!" Mama took Manja up in her arms, smothering her with kisses. Manja wrapped her arms around Mama's neck, and smiling, she turned to Sal.
"Hi Mister Morgan!"
"Hey there, munchkin. How was school today?"
"It was good! I practiced spelling long words! Seven letters!"
Sal slipped his hands into his pockets, curious. "Wow, already? You must be the smartest girl in the class!"
"Yup! Zeeky taught me. Everyone else does the alifbet, but not me! You proud?"
"I most certainly am, sweetheart. How old are you now?"
Manja proudly held up four straight fingers. "But my birthday's soon! Zeeky's gonna make me a big fūl-medammis and bread pudding!"
Smiling, Sal leaned in further. "Well that's mighty sweet of her, don't you think?"
"Yeah, it's real sweet," Zeika snapped. She stepped between Sal and her family and handed the ice pack to Manja. "Here, sweetie. Go in the back, get a cloth, and wrap your knee good and tight, okay? Then re-pack your dino bag. We're leaving soon. And no running."
"Kay, Zeeky."
Mama set the girl down, and after Zeika handed her the dinosaur bag, Manja disappeared into the back. "Bye, Mister Morgan!" She called over her shoulder.
Once Manja was gone, Zeika turned to Sal, her gaze settling.
"Why don't you have a seat, Lord Morgan?" Her mother offered gently. "Zeika, show him to a chair."
Zeika took a step back and slowly lifted her chin. "A chair can be located approximately ten degrees to your left."
"Zeika!"
Sal lifted a hand, still smiling. "It's all right, Mika. I'm sure she's just had a long day. I'll make myself at home."
As though he hadn't already.
"Are you hungry?" Mama pressed.
"No," Sal said with a warm smile. "I'm quite satiated. Thank you."
Zeika's eyes widened, and she looked at her mother for meaning. Her mother was diligent in avoiding her gaze.
"I… I'm sure we could do with some tea, though. Zeika?"
Zeika's dark gaze rolled over to meet her mother's.
"Would you please?" Mama urged.
Zeika turned and started to walk out the kitchen.
"EZEKIEL!"
Zeika stopped short as her mother called out her full name. Mama only used it when she was upset.
"Get the tea. Now."
Tea leaves blustered from their tin, and the water in the teapot rolled around more angrily than usual as Sal and Mama settled into the living room's weathered couches. The cracks in their plates, teacups, and sugar bowl deepened as Zeika slammed everything down on their shaky coffee table. She tossed the last of their frozen bread loaf onto a warming skillet to make toast, and when it was done, she dealt the toast out, blackjack dealer-style.
Mama's eyes glittered with anger as her own slice of bread backflipped its way onto the tabletop, spilling crumbs. Finally, a half-filled jar of jam clattered into the middle of the table along with a couple of butter knives. Then, Zeika sat herself on the couch next to her mother, her lips smushed up against her knuckles as she glared at Sal.
As she watched his vile Adam's apple throb with the gulps he took from his mug, all Zeika could see was Mama crouched next to their withered ten-by-ten dirt patch, urging those tender tea leaves to life. Their last tea leaves.
She closed her eyes against the scene and clenched her teeth. "Mama. Manja and I really have to go now."
"Where are you headed?" Sal asked. He was spreading an inordinate amount of jam on his toast.
She pursed her lips for seconds on end as she stared at him— and at the too-thick layer of jam on his bread— until her mother's gaze on her cheek urged her to answer. "Guild Five. The Guild of Almaut."
Mama stiffened, her jaw going tight beneath the smooth chestnut of her skin.
"Ah." Sal took more jam from the already waning jar. "You realize that your demesne's guild is under investigation for its ties with Koa?"
"Its alleged ties with Koa. We have nothing to do with them."
"We?" Sal looked up at her, his eyes dark. He set his teacup down on the table. "Have you joined, then? Are you looking to become a Civic Alchemist?"
"I became a member of Guild Five so that I could get social services for my family and so that Manja would have a place to play," she replied. The well-rehearsed lines rolled out smoother than she expected. "I have no interest in becoming a Civic Alchemist. Everyone knows it's illegal. Besides, I have no interest in magic. It's dumb."
She could see Sal relax immediately. His smile returned. "Alchemy is not magic, my dear. It's a science, and a highly-regarded one at that. Better suited for people who know what they're doing."
"Yeah, like Azures." The sarcasm laid thick on Zeika's voice. "Their expertise is profound."
A touch of a smirk drove a glint into Sal's eyes. "It is. Either way, hearing you say that is reassuring, Ezekiel. A delicate thing like you has little business to do with Guilds and Alchemy and Orders." He took a bite of his toast. "So, if not to commune with barbarians, what pray tell, do you do at the Guild while Manja is playing?"
Zeika looked away a
nd rubbed her arm. "I dance. I dance ballet."
Her mind wandered to the silken shoes in her bag, and for the first time since she'd been home, she felt some of her bitterness lift, even in Sal's toxic presence. It was the one thing, aside from Manja, that brought her joy, and one of the few things she didn't have to lie about.
"Ah. A dancer. A ballerina, even. That's something I didn't know about you. I assume you've been doing it most your life?" As he said this, his gaze rolled from her face and then down. She crossed her arms, cutting off his visual traipse.
"Yes," she huffed out. She was beginning to tire of this game.
"That's marvelous. That was a good decision on your mother's part. Ballet is a beautiful vocation. Very suitable for a woman. Especially a Civilian woman."
It took everything in Zeika to keep her fists from tightening. "I doubt that twirling around like some twit is going to get me that far in life."
"You'd be surprised at what talents can get you far." And Sal cast a smug glance Mama's way, to which Mama lowered her eyes. "Speaking of, that reminds me. You need your work pass renewed for that waitress job, don't you?" Sal shot her a grin that was so wide Zeika thought she'd missed the punchline.
"No," she replied with a hard gaze. "I don't need it renewed for another week. And I was planning to start working locally anyway."
Sal's smile began to fade.
"Ezekiel," her mother broke in softly. "Ezekiel, please."
Zeika turned to her and then looked at Sal, who had already extended his hand, bidding her forth.
"Please, honey." Her mother's eyes softened. "It is a gift. Please."
The gaze that Zeika unrolled at her mother was longer than yarn on a spindle. But finally, she sighed in defeat and got up, pulling the heavy pendant from her robes. On one side, the Monas Hieroglyphica was carved, and Zeika couldn't help but look down at it as she approached Sal. It filled her gaze, that menagerie of winding ribbons and ivy, twining around a set of symbols that Zeika had seen many times, but never understood. Still, her eyes lingered. The hieroglyphic sign at the Monas' center lay shadowed beneath the curly barbed lace around it, roads no one could ever travel.
Zeika knew what lay on the other side of the work pass, but instead of looking at it, she held the pendant out to him, averting her eyes as she did.
Sal snatched her wrist and pulled her in. On reflex, Zeika reached for her knife holster with her other hand, but as she did, her muscles screeched to a halt, suspending her hand in mid-air. She tried to move once. Twice. Nothing. Neither of her arms would budge an inch.
"Let go of me, Sal," Zeika's voice curled into a low snarl.
Sal's eyes danced with delight as he watched her squirm.
"Let go, or I swear, I'll— hrmph!"
With a lift of his gaze, Sal locked the muscles in Zeika's jaw. Then he held out his free hand, spread his fingers, and gestured downward.
Her knees began to bend. She ground her teeth, fighting against his power as his force bore down on her. Pain exploded in her body as threads of muscle stretched and strained. She never whimpered.
"A pretty face that does not beg," Sal said. "I'm intrigued." He reached out and caressed her cheek, pushing a loose braid back behind her ear. He lifted her chin, forcing her to look into his face. She couldn't turn away, so instead, she focused on the long thin scar that ran from his temple to his jaw. She fixed on it, drawing strength from knowing he had once felt pain.
His power came down on her with ten times the force. She let out a low whine as her limbs began to fold down harder, forcing her knees and forehead towards the floor. She crumpled, and Sal's grip tightened on her wrist as he forced her arm and body in opposite directions.
"Please, my Lord!" Mama whispered as she stumbled forward, falling on her knees. "She's just a child! She meant no disrespect! She's tired from work is all!"
"I realize that. No need to be dramatic, Mika."
Sal plucked the pendant from Zeika's jerking fingers, and she felt her neck and back muscles contract as he forced her again to lift her gaze to him. Flipping the work-pass, Sal showed Zeika its back-side, which now read:
Work Pass Clearance:
ALL CIVIC DEMESNES.
Expiration Date:
60 DAYS.
Licensor:
LORD SALVATORE MORGAN,
PROFICIENT ALCHEMIST OF THE SECOND DEGREE.
The pass' expiration date had changed from 7 days to 60 days, and his signature glowed beneath it, still warm from its forced re-inscription.
"My dear. Your mother paid very well for this. Never snap at those who give you your daily bread. You may come to regret it." He tilted his head, smiling. "Safe travels to you." Then he released her. All of her.
Zeika wrenched away and scrambled backwards. Her heart hammered against her chest, breath whisked in and out of her in shallow rolls, but those numbing sensations couldn't match the crushing swells of hatred that surged as she watched Sal get up from their couch. He smoothed his collared shirt, grabbed his long coat, and tossed the work pass nonchalantly onto the table.
"Until next time, Mika." Then his gaze shifted down to Zeika, and he winked. "Ezekiel."
The door to their Quonset hut closed, and Mama turned to her, but Zeika barely noticed. She was still struggling to her feet and watching the door with a steady, roiling gaze. When she finally turned to face Mama, her dark expression sucked the remaining pleasantries out of the air.
"So you decided to skip the town meeting?" Zeika seethed. "Or did it just adjourn in our bedroom?"
"It's tax day," Mama murmured.
"Tax day. Right. Guess you and Baba are no longer filing jointly."
Mama's brows lifted, whether in surprise or indignation, Zeika couldn't tell. "I'm not in the mood for one of your spectacles, Ezekiel. It's getting old already."
"Tell me. How have you been paying for this?" Her eyes hard, she lifted the work pass to her mother. "Are you using the money me and Baba give you, or are you using something else?"
Mama looked at her for a long beat, but not a word came from her mouth. Not even when she turned away and tried to walk into the back.
Zeika staggered, her muscles aching. But she was still faster than her mother, and before Mama could disappear into the back, Zeika slid in front of her, blocking her way.
"Honey, I have to be to work in an hour. I really don't have time for this."
"Answer me!"
"I'm your mother—"
"Not when he had me on my knees you weren't. The least you can do after watching him humiliate me is answer my question."
Her eyes wide, Mama shook her head, at a loss. "I- I wasn't expecting you to be home this early. I'm sorry that you had to go through that, but aside from that, I don't know what to say."
Zeika felt the air rush out of her, hate filling her up. "You don't know what to say… Funny how a woman has nothing to say when she has an Azure dick in her mouth."
Her chin snapped to the right as Mama brought a hand across her face. Zeika's eyes went wild with shock as she put her fingers to her stinging cheek.
Mama then came in close and lifted a finger to her face, almost touching her nose. "Your time in the street has you smelling yourself. While you still walk this Earth and your asshole points to the ground, I am still your mother. You will respect me. Is that clear?"
Zeika pursed her lips, gazing at her. "You want respect… while you cuckold my father."
The anger in Mama's eyes extinguished into another emotion that Zeika couldn't place. "You can't cuckold the dead, Ezekiel."
"I can't believe you just said that," Zeika whispered. "He's gone, not— he's out there! Every day! He breaks his back for US!"
"Zeika." Her mother approached her, her voice wavering. "Please understand. This isn't just for kicks. If I didn't, Sal would take three times more from all our incomes than he's taking now, and you wouldn't have a work pass at all. I'm doing this for our family—"
Zeika started shaking her head, and sh
e put her face in her hands. "No."
"—for you and Manja!"
"No! You aren't doing this for us! There are plenty of things you could be doing for 'us', but you chose this! Why? You've refused to come down to the Forge every time I've asked you, and for what? You'd rather be this?! Sal's concubine?!"
"I can only give what I have in the ways that I can."
"I have asked you once, twice, a million times to come down with me to the Forge!"
"You think that in between commuting and slaving away in Demesne Six that I have time for that? You're living a pipe dream, Zeika. Do you understand that? Those little side jobs you work don't pay the bills. The money I get from the factory and from Sal, on the other hand, does."
Zeika had to tighten her jaw in order to keep from saying it. Her mind flew to the three grand in the jar, hidden in the Earth, but for the sake of keeping those savings full, she had to keep quiet. Mama had bad habits… and the last time Zeika had told her where their savings were, it had cost them big.
"I'm not doing this with you right now," Zeika said finally. "We're leaving. We'll be back soon."
"You're not taking her with you. We both know that it's too risky. Guild Five is too risky."
"I don't have a choice. She's bleeding into her knees again. I need to treat her, now, and the only place I can do that is at the Guild. They have what we need, so that's where we're going."
"Sal is already suspicious of them. The entire Alchemic Order is."
"I don't care what Sal or the Cabal are suspicious of, and I'm tired of dancing around them and their paranoia. Where else am I going to get supplies for Manja?"
"Caution is the path of wisdom."
"It's also the path of cowardice. Did caution matter for our livelihood? For Baba? For you?" Zeika's jaw quivered with anger as she forced the words out. "Did it matter for Johnny?"
"Zeika, Sal had nothing to do with—"
"That's garbage, and you know it."
"You're emotional. I know it's hard, but you can't take your anger out on Sal. For all our sakes, you need to reign it in, do you understand? If you truly care about our family's safety— Manja's safety— you need to deal with your loss—"
