by Raye Wagner
She turned her back to me and, just in case I couldn’t take the hint, pulled off her tunic as she stumbled to her bed. Dropping the wet garment on the floor, she walked away—from me, from our disagreement—as though my feelings didn’t matter. Heaving one more sigh, she collapsed onto her cot, burying her face into the bedclothes, and released a frustrated groan.
It doesn’t matter what she thinks. I sniffed before scrubbing the moisture from my eyes. Swallowing the plug of emotion, I ducked into the hovel and pulled the door closed behind. Darkness swallowed us, and in the belly of Esi’s home, swirling with the acrid smells, bitter tension tugged at my heartstrings. But I wasn’t wrong, and I couldn’t apologize for what I’d said. So I silently shuffled to my own pallet and waited for sleep to claim me.
Hours crawled past, the seconds measured by the chirping of bugs and hooting owls. I turned the events of the day over and over in my mind again, looking for what I could’ve done different, and I still felt honorable. Eventually, fatigue scattered a fine layer of gritty dirt between my eyelids, and the remaining moisture glued them closed.
Esi was gone when I awoke, as was Bizi, and the door was open. I got dressed and checked outside, but they were nowhere to be seen. I stood in the middle of the single room home, and the space felt bigger. I spun in a circle and frowned. Esi had taken every pail and lined them up by the door. More than half of the containers were gone already, all of the empty ones and the ones with ripe cheese. There were a few buckets left, one each of yogurt and whey, and a couple with cheese. My heart sank, and when the bell rang for breakfast a moment later, uncertainty held me fast. Esi had implied there might yet be trouble.
Taking a deep breath, I squared my shoulders and then grabbed the pail with cheese and the one with whey, determined to act as I had every other day since I’d arrived. I wasn’t going to change. I was about fairness, so I’d continue to act with honor—regardless of what anyone else did.
16
I stepped into the kitchen and handed the whey to Dostane. She smiled, a small, sad expression of pity, and handed me a ball of rice and cheese, deep fried and golden brown. She was the best cook in all of Pûleêr. I thanked her, knowing I would’ve never gotten one of her special treats without her consideration—not this late in the morning.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Dostane asked, offering me another rice ball. “Did you and Esi have a fight on top of everything else?”
I fidgeted, feeling awkward from her bluntness. “Does everyone know?”
Dostane nodded, her lips thinning. “Maybe not about the fight, but everyone knows you had something to do with the new rules. There was a council meeting yesterday and again early this morning.”
Of course they had a council meeting. Not that I should’ve known, but that would be the normal thing to do to make decisions for an entire post—if the council wasn’t guilty of selective exclusivity. “Does everyone hate me? Am I really going to get attacked if I go out there?” I frowned and added, “Do they blame me?”
Dostane pursed her lips, her expression remaining drawn while she considered her answer. “No, maybe, and not everyone,” she said in rapid succession. “Esi and the Serîk have persuaded most of the magî that you didn’t know, and it was your shock and Svîk’s misunderstanding that caused the fight in your unit. And those who haven’t been working will have to rotate in now—everyone. That’s what was decided. I’ll get to work in the kitchen, but then so will everyone else. But Esi’s the only one who ever traveled the Little Rê to Terit during the rainy season, so I’m not sure what will happen with that. How can they make that fair when no one else wants to do it?”
“Fair doesn’t have to mean equal,” I stated before biting into my breakfast. I’d heard Esi say the phrase at least a dozen times since I’d arrived, so why couldn’t they actually follow their own stupid axiom?
“Maybe not,” Dostane said with a shrug. “But at this point, equal is what everyone wants.”
I grimaced. So stupid. Why not utilize magî based on skills and capabilities as much as possible? Sure, some might be stuck doing a job they didn’t like, but why take Dostane out of the kitchen and put someone like Lis in there? At least everyone gained equally by having Dostane work in the kitchen.
“You’re still young enough to project your thoughts,” she said with a dark chuckle. “And I don’t disagree with your assessment, but with over a thousand people in Pûleêr, majority ruled on this one.” Her smile shifted back to pity again. “You have a good heart, Taja.”
“I wasn’t ever trying to hide my feelings. Esi said everything here was fair—not equal, fair. Yet over and over again, all I’ve seen is evidence to contradict the statement. And I don’t care, not like you think. I’m not from Pûleêr, and I’m definitely not going to stay here. I’m grateful for your hospitality, but not everyone has been gracious, or honest. And the amount of discrepancy in the words and actions far exceeded ‘taking a little advantage’—which is the excuse I heard.”
“Justice is in your core. In that way, you’re a lot like Zädîsa,” she said, wiping down the counters. “She stayed in the inn I ran in Heza… it seems like a long time, but it wasn’t even a year ago. She told us to come here, told me the truth—even when it couldn’t have been easy—because it was right. And Doli still hates her for it.” She exhaled and then added, “Justice is a double-edged sword. It damns and liberates—sometimes at the same time and to the same person.”
Of everyone I’d met, she’d been the most forthright, and yet she’d been on the council, so fully aware of what was going on. “Why did you put up with it? What did you get out of it, besides working in the kitchen? Or was it just the extra food?”
I wrinkled my nose because the question didn’t settle well. Dostane had been nice in every interaction, and she wasn’t overweight like some of the women who worked with her.
“I really do like working with food,” she said. “But I was trying to give Doli enough time to grieve her brother. The cooking was an extra perk.”
Raising her eyebrows, Dostane pulled a plate from beneath the counter where she stood. Half of her plate was empty except for the glistening of oil from the two rice-and-cheese balls. The bite in my mouth turned to dirt, and I held out the uneaten one.
“No,” Dostane said with a smile. “I meant to give them to you.” Pointing to her plate of rice and beans, she winked at me as she grabbed a spoon from one of the dishes. She took a heaping scoop of cheese from a pail under the counter and plopped the creamy blob onto her plate. “What you see is very rarely the entirety of the story—for anyone. I don’t have the right answers for you about what you saw, or why Esi said what she did, and I never felt right about the disparity within Pûleêr, but sometimes what’s right isn’t what’s best. Sometimes there aren’t any easy answers.”
Her candid responses drew me in, and I braved another question. “What do you think of the Serîk?”
She took a bite of the pîderîne she’d made, and I waited, nibbling on the rest of the first dumpling.
“I haven’t made up my mind. His story about Zädîsa won most of the council, even Esi, eventually.” Dostane tapped her finger on the counter as she continued. “Everything Esi learned in Terit, the Serîk confirmed. Zîyanâ disappeared from Yândarî, and the kümdâr has captured Zädîsa.”
“What about you? Do you trust him?”
She shrugged. “He said Zädîsa told him Pûleêr was a safe place, off the map of the Serîk because they—we—were told to stop using magîk almost two years ago. Zädîsa came to Pûleêr and warned them about the kirinî. Those are all the same things she told me. I think he’s telling the truth about that. Zädîsa would only tell someone she trusted.”
“Or if she was tortured,” I muttered. “Or maybe someone pulled it out of her head.”
Dostane laughed. “You might be right, but I doubt it.”
This time I was the one who laughed, a short bark at the pathetic truth.
&
nbsp; She pointed at the population of Pûleêr, scraping their wooden plates as they sat in rows at long tables, following the rules. “You be you,” she said. “You’ll find those who get you eventually. It might not be here in Pûleêr, but you’ll find them.”
“Everyone, listen up,” Rull shouted, climbing on the table at the front of the roofed area. “I’m going to read off the work assignments in just a minute.”
With a wave to Dostane, I scooted out of the kitchen, my gaze landing on Esi standing next to Svîk, both stiff and awkward. Their faces were pinched with grim determination, and they each stared at me with an intensity that made my stomach churn.
The urge to turn and run surged from within, but I took a deep breath and marched toward them, my gaze darting back and forth. Esi’s lips twitched and then contorted into a forced smile so wide it seemed painful. A low murmur swelled from the crowd, but I ignored it. I was irritated with all the charades, too. Besides, Rull would start any minute.
“Hey, Taja,” Esi said, her smile faltering at my raised brow. She sighed, the smile disappeared, and she whispered, “I’m sorry.”
Rull began, and most of the magî turned to listen as he issued our work orders.
I tilted my head to the side, stopping directly in front of Esi, and gave her my full attention. I didn’t care a drop about what Rull had to say right now.
“You’re sorry? For what exactly?” When she furrowed her brow, I softly said, “Are you apologizing for what you said last night? For leaving this morning without saying anything?” My indignation swelled, the feeling spreading through my chest, fresh and unchecked. I clenched my hands and continued, my voice trembling with emotion. “Or are you saying sorry for taking Bizi and all the pails? Or for going along with the system here in Pûleêr? Are you sorry for telling me to go home yesterday like a pathetic child who can’t be trusted to make her own decisions? Or something else?”
She closed her eyes as her chin dropped to her chest and whispered, “All of it.”
I snapped my mouth shut with a click of my teeth and blinked, no longer sure of what to say after her humble admission. I was still angry—hurt, really. Part of me wanted to lash out, make her suffer worse for making me feel so bad, but to what end? Even so, I wasn’t quite as certain of her reliability, both as a friend and a member of the council.
Rull continued to announce the unit tasks, droning on in his dispassionate voice as he did every morning. I scanned over the large congregation of people, all of them back to acting as if nothing happened yesterday. I had yet to see Rull be charismatic and wondered if it was really possible. Maybe Esi was lying again.
My gaze caught on a young female, Nebe, and she curled her lip at me. She said something to the female magî next to her, who rolled her eyes and then pulled a face. Nebe never really liked me anyway, so I wasn’t about to take her actions as confirmation, until I met with similar sneers on three more peoples’ faces. Four. Five. Six…
Sighing, I stopped counting, stopped looking at the residents of Pûleêr, and glanced at Svîk.
“You’re not everyone’s favorite right now,” he said, his features hardening as his gaze slid to Esi. “Not that it makes a sliver of sense, but then these posts aren’t known for their intelligence.”
I snorted, reluctantly agreeing with the Serîk. “Why don’t they hate you?”
He raised his eyebrows. “Oh, I’m sure they do. But they’re more scared of me.”
“Even if that’s true,” Esi said, turning to glare at him, “it doesn’t go for everyone in Pûleêr.”
“Of course not,” he replied, facing her. His eyes narrowed as he stared down at her. When he spoke, his voice was hard, cutting, and filled with derision. “If everyone was equally stupid, there wouldn’t have been an advantage to take, right?”
He said exactly what I was thinking, but when Esi’s eyes filled with tears, my heart softened a bit. I opened my mouth, my mind scrambling for words that were both compassionate and honest, but before I could speak, she gasped, pivoted, and then darted out of the clearing.
A low murmur rolled through the nearby crowd, and a sticky sense of dread settled on my skin, like walking through spider webs. I looked up at Svîk, wracked by the conflicting emotions inside.
“If anyone tries anything,” he said, raising his eyebrows, “I’ll disembowel them—if you’d like.”
I gaped in horror, and he chuckled.
“That’s it,” Rull said. “Everybody dismissed.”
Everyone rose, and the clatter of wooden dishes and murmur of voices swelled around us as the magî cleared the tables and moved into groups. I stood rooted, not sure where to go, and equally certain I didn’t want to ask the unstable Serîk at my side.
“I was kidding,” he said, leaning into my line of sight. The left side of his mouth pulled up into a half smile, and the silver charm hung in the air from the cord on his neck.
I nodded and closed my mouth. Obviously I didn’t know how to read his humor. “You have a sick sense—”
“Actually,” he said, wincing as he straightened, “not really kidding. At all.”
My thoughts derailed, and I froze, blinking up at him. How am I supposed to respond to that? Thanks? No thanks? See ya?
“We should get going,” he told me, motioning with his chin. He strode toward the paths leading out to the perimeter road, turning back only to wave at me to join him. “Unless you want them to get to the site before us,” he called. “Though I don’t think that’s a good idea, personally, what with grudges and all.”
I tripped on my next step and stumbled into the open air. Sighing, I looked up. Without the roof overhead, the morning light bathed the layers of the rainforest, showcasing the vibrant colors of the orchids, bromeliads, and other flora, but my attention locked onto Svîk, my chest heaving. “Wait. Are you serious? Who’s in our group?”
“Yeah,” he grunted. “I don’t get it either. Same as yesterday: same group, same location. Why do you think it only took a couple minutes for Rull to make the announcements?”
Was this somebody’s idea of a joke? I gritted my teeth and shifted onto the balls of my feet, ready to pivot and return to the pavilion, when Svîk grabbed my wrist.
“Don’t do it,” he murmured. “Don’t play their games. If you say anything right now, Rull will toss you out. Suck it up, buttercup, and let’s go.”
“Buttercup?” Something strange and familiar about the name zinged through me—there and then gone. I tugged against his grip, but the wisdom of his warning held me just as much as his hand.
He shook his head. “You have nowhere else to go right now, and neither do I. So what if it’s the same rot-hole? This entire place is a hole. We’re not here to play in the mud and get along. Let’s go clear the plants in our assigned area. Then we can do something fun. Do they have anything fun?”
Really? Something fun? We weren’t friends, but there was no way I would say that now. He was my only ally. What else could I do? “Not really—at least not that I know of.”
“Rot. Maybe we can make our own.”
17
We approached the group, and I kept my gaze averted, doing my best not to instigate any trouble. Someone bumped my shoulder, knocking me to the side. I stumbled, grunting before righting myself. I turned and faced the offender.
“What?” demanded a young magî, meeting my gaze with a glare. A dark bruise blossomed over his swollen jaw.
Next to him stood Teso, one eye wide, the other swollen shut. He inched back, holding his hands up, making it clear he wasn’t a part of his friend’s actions.
Svîk stepped between me and the young male who’d bumped me, leaned over, and muttered, “If you so much as address her, I’ll shove my fist so far into your skull you’ll never see anything else again.” Svîk looked over his shoulder and said, “Let’s go, Taja. We’ll take the section on the end.”
Svîk dropped his shoulder and bumped the guy, hard enough that the magî fell on his butt. Before
he could stand, Svîk pivoted, his lip curling as he glared at the young male. I held my breath—probably true for the entire unit—as the young magî pursed his lips before raising his arms in surrender.
“Do you have something to say?” Svîk asked the other magî.
“Sorry,” he said, angling my way though not meeting my eyes.
I didn’t want his insincere apology, especially not when it was obviously pushed out of him. Shrugging, I said, “Sure.”
Without waiting for a response, I moved past Svîk and the rest of the unit to the edge of the rainforest. Ignoring them all, I leaned over and grabbed the stalk of an aleph-ear plant that was almost knee-high. I yanked it out of the mud and threw it back into the wall of growth. Behind me, the wet sounds of foliage being cleared indicated the rest of the unit was likewise getting to work.
“You handled that well,” Svîk said, appearing next to me.
I grunted as I tugged another plant loose with a sucking protest from the ground. Tossing the stalk into the jungle, I peeked at him, frowning as I saw Rumi and Lis approaching.
“You might want to be careful,” Rumi cautioned, sidling up to Svîk. “You don’t want to align with someone like her.”
“Really?” Svîk faced her. “Why is that?”
“She has nothing,” Rumi replied.
Lis nodded in confirmation. “No family, no name, no memory”—her gaze slid to me and hardened—“and probably no magîk.”
“That so?” Svîk tilted his head as though examining me anew, and one of the girls giggled. The tentative softening I’d felt toward him turned rock-hard in a flash before melting into confusion as he pursed his lips and gave one small shake of his head.
“Completely worthless,” Rumi said. “Except to clear the jungle. She’s probably no better than an animal.”
