Edicts
Page 3
The train ride to the outskirts of Ada wasn't as long as I had anticipated. The city stretches on for miles, as big cities do. Rather, urban, judicial and commerce districts drag on for miles more; the surrounding rural boroughs are meager by comparison.
I'm inclined to hunt down the 'Condemned' joint in this locality at the city's edge, but they'd have dispersed for the sake of one another after the events of this past night.
I guess I was lucky. Really damn lucky.
The train comes to a stop. The doors slide open, I get off. Several blocks down from the train station there's a farmer's market. It was peaceful enough on a sunny day like this. I couldn't fathom how I could screw myself over by lurking around a farmer's —
"Hey!"
Ugh. What now?
"You just going to sit there, or is you going to offer a set of hands?" This voice belonged to a woman.
"'Set of hands'?"
"You're clearly of the quiratless, and probably need a bath." She regarded me with pitiless eyes. Then her expression changed. She smiled. "Come here and shuck some corn. I promise it'll pay. What's your name?"
"Jaime." There's a Konradd after that. These days it doesn't quite matter who I came from. Furthermore, country people don't care too much abut surnames. I go over to her, and she sets aside a section of corn for me to peel.
I get to peeling.
The hours drag on. She and an older olive-skinned man occupy themselves with chatter, while a woman who looks about as old as the man manages the exchanges. Corn for vari. There are no quirats in this kind of 'industry', just vari. Maybe a gilde or two. It's sad, really. Agricultural families don't make a living, despite how critical they are to Em-Gaiea's economy —
"Never had a proper exchange, did we?" she says, as the heaps get lower and the jingle of the silver varis lessen. "I'm Ellia, by the way. This here is my father, Torrence."
"I'm pleased to meet you both."
"This is my mother." Ellia gestures to the woman. Her mother doesn't bother to look at me, she just keeps her gaze fixed on the crowd of potential buyers.
The sun sets. Shadows creep along the ground. Like a pair of hands having been out too long in the snow, the wind is cold as it wafts along my skin. As promised I'm handed a cut of their earnings. I stare at the few vari in my hand. It's not enough to survive the night.
Ellia regards me curiously. "We've got an attic." Just as she says it, before I can respond, Torrence clicks his tongue.
"No," he says.
She frowns. "Papa," she starts to entreat him, "we could use a young man's hands at the house. The foals need wrangling, and the neighbor boy ain't going to get it done. He's yellower than a golden retriever, and you know it."
He stares at me. Long and hard with narrowed eyes, he fixes his gaze. Then he makes that clicking sound and he motions with a swing of his arm for me to come. "Hop in the back."
I do as told. He draws the hood up over the wagon, and locks the back hatch. He, his wife, and Ellia climb up into the coach seat. The draught horse regards him indifferently. He gives the command and a toss of the reigns. We're off.
The old ranch house is miles away. Past isolated clusters of wild trees; past orchards; past fields upon fields of agriculture. Its well into night by the time we arrive. Firelight flickers through the window.
"You'll go straight to the attic. That's where you sleep. You're welcome to stay long as you need to, but you's not gunna eat for free. You'll be up at dawn as my helper if you's hungry."
I get out of the cart.
"Don't go talking to my wife. She ain't taken a liking to any strangers. Not right away."
"Understood," I say it and duck into the house, straight for the attic.
Before I know it, weeks go by. I begin to wonder: what of Naeyr? Is she still alive? I lay on my cot that night, staring out the skylight, the sole window that brightens the attic. The moon's glimmer casts black and blue shadows here and there. My stomach churns, and I shake my head.
The steps creak, and gradually the hatch lifts. Ellia's a brunette. Her eyes are bright blue, and while her head peeps up from the floor hatch, I can't restrain a grin.
"Is it safe?"
"I'm not a chronic masturbator, if that's what you're asking."
She pushes the hatch back and climbs the rest of the way into the attic. She plops down on the three-seat couch near the north side wall. "So what's your deal?"
I get up and sit on the other end. "My 'deal'?"
"I saw your face, a few nights after we took you in, on one of the billboards in the city. It was with the headline 'Ada nearly cleansed of Hate-cult filth.' Is that true? Are you part of a cult?"
"Heh, no." Of course I'm not sure why my face was plastered on a billboard with a caption like that sliding underneath it. Not unless they were looking for me, and wanted the public to turn me in.
Once again, I'm especially lucky. "My face was plastered all over Ada for defying the 'goddess of Justice', and maintaining my stance that they're nothing more than over-embellished, utterly egocentric twats on high. Delusional humans, not worth the air that they breathe." At least, that's the only reason I can think of.
She quirks a brow, regarding me suspiciously. "I'm 'Gifted'," she says.
"Oh?"
"I hate it, though…"
"Why?" I thought the people who were capable of magic always adored the 'privilege' that came with it.
"Because it ain't right." She shakes her head. "I can manipulate the wills of others. When I was a kid I'd practice it on my folks, to always get my way. But now that I'm older, I realize how unethical it is."
"That…" is the kind of power a Herald would have. If it's legit. "Is scary."
"That's why you're here."
"Why are you telling me this?"
"Because I figured you'd listen." She needed to 'confess'. I understand why. That's all I need to do. Whether it's really right or wrong is something I don't want to judge.
Although it is exciting.
She crosses her legs. "I've been keeping under the radar. I feel the way that you do. If Pephistofar was a goddess, she'd know about it. I'd be a Herald of 'Justice' by now."
"There's someone I want you to meet. They're incarcerated, though."
"What for?"
"For being an irreligious alien in human form."
She stares me down, with hollow yet dead-serious eyes. How do I better explain this? "Please?"
"Only because this is crazy," she says, "And because I want to see this with my own eyes."
At that she motions for me to come with her. The stairs creek. Torrence steps out of their bedroom and regards us with curiosity. "Yous best not be going to the barn together," he says. "My girl ain't about to get preg —"
"I'm taking him to the city."
"Now, Ellia."
"You're not going to stop me. You can't stop me. You won't stop me."
He crosses his arms. "What makes you so sure of that?"
"Because I've got a gift worthy of a Harbinger, papa. By it I always get my way."
"Yous best be going back to bed, girl." He unfolds his arms with a visage more fierce than that of an eagle.
"Stand down," she says, "I know you don't want to interfere."
His face softens. He comes over, I tense. He kisses her forehead and rustles her curly hair. Afterward, he retreats to his bedroom.
Ellia takes me to the stable. They own four horses, all of them are drafts. They regard us curiously, indifferently. She saddles up two of them, and I climb onto the second. Then we depart.
Disquiet.