by A. R. Cook
As the humans were being led through the door, Chiriku was coming out of it. She bumped into the baggage man, and she squawked a quick curse at him. The man barely seemed to notice her as he disappeared through the doorway. The Quetzalin dragged her feet as she walked, and she plopped down on her mat as if she had lost all feeling in her body. It wasn’t exhaustion that caused this behavior. It was clear from the intensity in her eyes and the rigid frown in her beak what the matter was.
Mac was the unfortunate one to be sitting next to Chiriku, and he was not picking up on the air of extreme hostility the Quetzalin was generating. “So there’s-ssck the eye-pecker. Saved you a plate-ttk.” He extended to her a bowl of vegetables that, evidently, had been plucked of some of its contents. Chiriku dealt the bottom of the bowl an upward slap that flipped it out of Mac’s hand and sent the vegetables into his lap. He was fazed for a second, and then he scooped up the food and deposited into his own empty bowl, which constituted as his third helping.
“You should eat,” Desert Rain advised Chiriku. “You haven’t been eating much the last few days.”
“Like you care,” was the snippy reply.
“I do care. You’re running yourself ragged, and you’re going to get sick if you don’t eat something.”
“Who are you, my mother? Knock it off.”
“You may think no one cares about you, but you’re wrong.”
The Quetzalin wrapped her arms around her knees. “Shut up.”
That remark shouldn’t have made Desert Rain angry, yet she found herself slamming her bowl of food down on the floor. “If you think no one cares about you, it’s because you drive everybody away!”
She had not meant to say “drive;” she had meant to say “push.” She did not know how severely that one mistaken word would hit Chiriku. The bird girl was paralyzed, staring at Desert Rain with wide eyes full of shock and hate. Her beak trembled, and her breath grew heavy, as if she was about to screech. She stood up and stormed away, straight out of the temple and out into the night.
“Goodness-ssck, Gila Gul, what did you go and do that for? Not that she doesn’t-ttk deserve a scolding, but for swamp sod’s sake-kk…” He popped one more walnut into his mouth and then went after Chiriku.
Desert Rain lowered her gaze, rubbing her aching forehead. Clova placed a hand on Desert Rain’s shoulder. “It’s been a long week. I think everyone’s tired. Give her a little while.”
Tired…it’s more than being tired, Desert Rain thought.
A few minutes later, Mac came back in, holding a hand over one eye. He sat down on his mat. When he removed his hand, the skin around his eye was fresh red, and his half-closed eyelids twitched.
“Best we leave her alone for now,” he confirmed. “And don’t-ttk bring up any quotes about chickens in front of her. Ever.”
It was later in the night, when all in the sanctuary were asleep, that Chiriku snuck back inside the temple. Desert Rain, who had never been that sound a sleeper, twitched her ears as she heard the Quetzalin quietly walk by, and sit down on her mat. Desert Rain didn’t open her eyes, deciding that they both needed a good night’s sleep before talking again.
Chiriku nudged Desert Rain, and when the Hijn didn’t react immediately, she gave her a light punch in the arm. Desert Rain shot up, flinching away from Chiriku. “A little shake would have been fine,” the Hijn said.
“Look, Ears, it’s not like we like each other or anything.” Chiriku scratched the back of her neck. “But I was thinking that if I’ve managed to piss you of all people off, than I must be really…you know. And this isn’t really an apology or anything, but I’m too tired to start fights with people I barely even know. So, can we act like what happened earlier didn’t happen?”
Desert Rain smiled at her. “I’m sorry too. I know it’s a difficult time for you right now. I shouldn’t have talked to you the way I did.”
“It’s nothing new to me. It’s not like people haven’t called me a crow before.” Chiriku lied down and turned her back to Desert Rain. She looked over her shoulder. “Tell Mac I’m sorry for punching him in the eye. It’ll look stupid if I say it.”
Desert Rain lied back down, insulating herself under her blanket. She was beginning to think that Chiriku might be the most confusing person she’d ever known—but, then again, she herself was not so different.
The next morning, Desert Rain had an overwhelming curiosity to learn more about the humans who had arrived the previous night. She felt odd in asking the clerics if they knew anything about them, since she didn’t want to seem nosy. She figured that she herself should go check in on them, in a friendly neighbor sort of way, to see if there was anything she could do for them. Perhaps it was because she had once been a normal human long ago that she was drawn to this family, or maybe she wanted to feel like she could actually do something to help someone—anyone.
She hunted out the room the family was staying in, cautiously sneaking a peek around each drapery that she passed. She eventually came upon the room she was looking for. She quietly watched the family huddled around the hammock the sick girl was lying in. The girl could not have been older than six or seven, and she was cute even with her dirty hair and face. Her parents, eyes closed, sat wearily on the floor beside the hammock, while the two boys were still sleeping after their long trek. The other man—a farmhand, Desert Rain surmised—had seemingly not slept at all. He was standing against the wall with the bags of belongings at his feet, mending a torn tunic. He was still hidden inside his cloak and hat, the brim coming down to his brow, so all that could be seen was his scruffy lower half of his face. On one side of his face was an indistinguishable blotch mark, but much of it was covered by his prickly facial hair.
The man snapped his eyes up towards the drapery that Desert Rain was peering from behind. He said nothing, but his gaze was fixed. Desert Rain figured he must have felt her watching, and it would be rude to not relieve his apprehension. She drew aside the drapery and stepped into the room. “Excuse me, I don’t mean to snoop, but I was wondering if there was anything I could do—”
Her eyes met the man’s, and she froze. They were both petrified for some time, staring into one another. Desert Rain’s heart nearly leapt into her throat. His eyes were spellbinding, ensnaring—and gray-blue. They had a surprising piercing, familiar effect, even within the shadow of the brim of his hat. Desert Rain could not move, could not even twitch an ear. When she finally could move, it was to dash out of the room and vanish down the corridor.
I’m losing it, she thought. I’m actually losing it. Funny, I shouldn’t know that I’m losing my mind. But clearly, I am. Pull yourself together, Desert Rain. He’s a farmhand, a common, everyday man. No one you know. No one, living…or dead…
She stopped in her tracks. She gave her brain the chance to sort itself out. It was like Clova had said. Clearly, she was tired, and it was causing her to not think straight. She couldn’t let her haunting memories turn her into a paranoid wreck. If she was ever going to help anyone, she had to get over herself. She clenched and unclenched her hands for a minute, calming herself, and then she turned around and headed back to the family’s room. She was about to draw aside the drapery, but the farmhand thrust it aside for her before she could lay a hand on it.
Once again, Desert Rain was unable to move when her eyes met his, but this time she recovered from the petrification swiftly and rationally. “Forgive me,” she apologized, dropping her gaze to the floor. “I didn’t mean to be rude, walking out like that. I was startled.”
“Who is that, Gabriel?” The mother came into view behind the farmhand. She was a plain woman, half of her auburn hair pinned on top of her head, the other half loose around her face. She had a frazzled, neurotic air about her, and she seemed to be washing her hands with some invisible substance.
“Oh,” the mother said when she saw Desert Rain. “What do you want from us?”
The desert Hijn was taken aback by the mother’s instant distrust. “Is ther
e anything I could do to help you?”
The father—a brawny man with calloused hands—came over to stand beside his wife, and he made an obvious jerk backwards when he saw Desert Rain. “Who are you?” he inquired suspiciously.
“My name is Desert Rain. I’m a guest here as well.”
“You not like any elf I’ve ever seen.”
Desert Rain chuckled, tugging on one of her ears. “No, I’m not an elf. I’m human…I mean, I was, once.”
The two boys, now wide awake, poked their heads out from behind their parents. The boys looked so alike, they might have been twins—their hair color was the primary difference, once a mousy brown and the other blonde. “Are you a witch that put a spell on yourself to make you look like that?” the blonde one asked with immense fascination.
“Not quite—although I don’t know any witches who’d want to look like this.” Desert Rain smiled at the boys, seeing that they had an interest for the bizarre.
The father narrowed his eyes. “You ain’t one of them magic dragon people, are you?”
Desert Rain’s ears folded back. She wasn’t sure whether or not to answer truthfully. The tone of the father’s voice was brusque, and his gaze was stone cold. Squatters probably didn’t care much for magic-users, Desert Rain thought.
“I am Hijn,” Desert Rain reluctantly answered.
The father crossed his arms over his chest, a smirk of scorn on his face. “So, now you want to help, after our village was burned to the ground. Can you rebuild our house with a flick of your hand?”
Desert Rain didn’t like where this was going. “If you want me to go away—”
“Go away? Ha, like you great and wise Hijn are ever around to help the likes of us. Sure, you’re always there when those in the fancy Noble Cities need you, but what about us in the woodland villages? Where’s the Rain Hijn when our crops are dying from drought? Or that glorious Swordmaster when our village was ransacked by the Zi’Gax? Can you tell me that?”
The Zi’Gax. Desert Rain knew of them. They were a breed of goblins, rather monkey-like, but as quick and deadly as vipers. They made their living by hiring themselves out to do the dirty work for less scrupulous individuals—it went without saying that the Zi’Gax weren’t smart enough to survive by thinking for themselves. Sometimes it was bounty hunting, sometimes disposing of “thorns” in the side of their employers. Most of the time, the Zi’Gax were hired by the Wretched to plan sneak attacks on the Knighthood. There were certain members of the Noble Races who would stoop low enough to hire these goblins for private purposes.
Desert Rain’s face faded to a pale cream-yellow. “The Zi’Gax destroyed your village? Why?”
“How should we know? All I know is, it would have been nice if one of you all-knowing Hijn had been there to drive ‘em off. So, unless you know if that Healer is around here, we don’t need your ‘help.’” The father grabbed the drapery and yanked it to mask the doorway.
Desert Rain stood there, bewildered. She knew not everyone like the Hijn, but it hadn’t ever entered her mind that the Hijn were selective to whom they chose to offer guidance and protection. No, the Hijn couldn’t be like that—not all of them. Certainly not Clova, or Mage Skyhan, or…Swordmaster Skyhan. As she turned to leave, she saw a gray-blue eye peeking out at the edge of the curtain. She grinned sheepishly at the farmhand—Gabriel, was it?—and then walked away dejectedly.
One bad experience was piling on top of another. She couldn’t stand trying to sort it all out in her head—she wanted to forget about it for a while. There was a simple method she always used to get her mind off things, and that was music. She didn’t know how much it would please her now, since her artistic spark was gone, but it should at least calm her nerves. Upon entering the main hall, she found the minstrel with the sprained wrist. He had given up on trying to play his lute, his splint inhibiting him too much. She respectfully inquired if she could borrow his lute for a while, since he was not using it. The minstrel observed her long, slender fingers, and hesitantly handed his instrument over—after she promised to handle it with extreme care.
She carried the lute as if it were a newborn baby. She took it over to her mat, sat down, and began to pluck a few notes, reacquainting herself with the strings. Once she was warmed up, she began playing a sweet, sad tune, one that she had learned as a child. It wasn’t long before she had drawn a small crowd—much to the chagrin of the minstrel, who hadn’t ever drawn such a crowd when he played, but he couldn’t deny that she was good. Desert Rain’s fingertips glided over the strings like the graceful lapping of waves on a beach, creating currents of soul-moving sounds across the whole room. Soon she was softly singing along with her music, and, although she wasn’t sure why, this captivated her audience all the more. She became so enthralled in her music, she did not even notice that the brunette and blonde twin boys had joined the crowd.
When Desert Rain finished, she received a round of timid applause. The two boys stepped up past the crowd, right up to Desert Rain.
“Our sister loves music,” the brunette boy told her. “But she has to stay in bed. Would you come to our room and play for her?”
Desert Rain paused before answering. “I don’t think your parents would like me getting in the way.”
“You won’t get in the way. Please, weird lady? Maybe it will make our sister feel better.”
Desert Rain couldn’t refute a request like that. This was, perhaps, a way in which she could help this family. She got up and followed the boys back to their room. Granted, the father was not pleased to see Desert Rain again, but the mother seemed to open up, especially when the boys told her that it was the Hijn who had been making that lovely music they heard down the corridor. The woman went over to her daughter, nudging her gently. “Alana? Would you like to listen to some music?”
The little girl opened her eyes, having not been asleep but resting. “Yes, Momma. I heard music playing outside. It was nice.”
Desert Rain sat down on the floor next to the hammock, and started to play an old Ulomin folk song on the lute. Alana leaned her head over the side of her hammock to see who the mystery musician was. She was not surprised by Desert Rain’s appearance. She smiled, paying all attention to the odd woman with the lute. Desert Rain even spotted the father tapping his foot, unbeknownst to him. Gabriel leaned against the wall across the room, his head lowered in what looked like contemplation. The desert Hijn found herself staring at him, and once she realized this, she quickly looked away. Alana suddenly coughed, hard.
The mother turned to the farmhand. “Gabriel, could you find one of the elves, see if they could bring Alana some more of that tea that soothed her cough?”
Gabriel nodded, and quietly left the room.
Desert Rain’s fingers slightly slowed down, the music slightly softened. She continued playing, though, as she asked the mother, “I don’t mean to pry, but who is that man?”
“Gabriel? He’s a drifter we took in. He helped us escape the Zi’Gax and find our way here.”
“He must know his way around the forests pretty well, then.”
“He’s the best,” Alana said. “He’s really smart, and really strong. He can lift a whole cow!”
“He pushed a cart with a cow in it,” her blonde brother corrected her. “A small cow.”
“Did he say where he comes from?” Desert Rain was hoping she was not being too inquisitive.
“We all got something to hide,” the father replied. “You got any other songs?”
Desert Rain lowered her eyes and began to play another song, one of her own composition. While it sounded wonderful to the others, the music was stale to her—it may have been that she was thinking about the one audience member that wasn’t there.
When Desert Rain was done with playing, she bowed a good day to the family and departed into the corridor. She remembered Hibbletom, and walked down the hall to his room. She pulled back the curtain, and saw Chiriku sitting against the wall next to Hibbletom’s hammock
. The Quetzalin stared into nothingness, sitting as still as an ice statue. She didn’t even acknowledge Desert Rain as she entered the room. The Hijn stared at her curiously, and then turned her gaze to the sleeping old man.
It was then she realized he wasn’t sleeping. She came over to his hammock, observing his ash-white face, his still body. His chest did not rise and fall with the rhythm of breathing. She placed a gentle finger to his neck, searching for a pulse. His skin was clammy, and cold. She could feel no blood moving through his veins.
She drew back her hand with an impulsive flinch. She bit her lip, her shoulders slumped under the weight of sudden sorrow. She took Hibbletom’s lifeless hand, held in in hers as she said a silent prayer. She placed his hand gently down at his side, and slowly pulled his blanket up to cover his face. She turned and knelt down in front of Chiriku. The bird girl was oblivious to all around her.
“Chiriku…” Desert Rain placed a hand on her shoulder.
Chiriku turned away from Desert Rain, resting her head and shoulder against the wall. “Go away,” she rasped.
Desert Rain lingered there a moment, but then slowly stood up and left the room. She leaned against the wall outside the doorway, and because she knew Chiriku would never expose her grief, she silently lamented for her.
Her lamentation stirred up old feelings, and an even older sadness than Desert Rain thought she had put behind her. She, too, knew what it was to lose a loved one, a guardian, someone who had been as much a part of her as she had been to that someone…
***
Ninety years ago.
“Grandma Luna! It’s me! Are you home?”
Desiree bounded down the steps into the underground temple, grateful to get out of the hot sun. She had been riding almost nonstop the last few days, having rented a horse in Syphurius, where her family was spending the month. She had left the horse in Ulomin, fearing that the stifling open desert would be too much for the steed, even in the dusk hours when the desert was cooler. Now her feet were sweaty and blistered, and she removed her traveling boots with great relief. Upon glancing about the room, however, she found it lacking a hostess. It was not like Grandma Luna to not be home, and it made Desiree worry. An elderly woman like Luna should not be out in the desert alone, away from the temple’s water and shade.
