CHAPTER 13
Jallin left the tent restaurant. He tripped on his way out and ignored the laughter of the merchants, sailors, and waitresses. He slapped away the shaya in the green pants who tried to help him. Even when he was out in the sun again, and the fresh moving air, he couldn’t breathe. The world spun around him, and people gawked at him.
He vomited all the good fish he’d eaten, and for a moment stared at the puddle at his feet. The kinto-shah around him curled their lips and hastily walked away from him, waving hands in front of noses.
He pushed his way through the crowd and back into the alleyway. He found his way back to the home where his mother died. No others infested it like his family had. No one else wanted the place, he guessed.
Even after his mother died of the bloodlung cough, a few scavengers found the clothing piles, the scraps of blankets, and a few of the other things he’d collected. They even took the mattress where she died.
The little table was gone. A few pieces of broken wood were left. The rest of the table was ashes somewhere.
Suddenly, the stench of mold. A few diseased breaths still lingered here.
He didn’t belong here. His tunic was unstained, his pants had no holes or tears. His boots weren’t even broken in yet. Standing here, he felt more ashamed of his mother than ever before. She’d worked her life away for this place, and handed her children over to…Auntie Hurga?
No Baby?
It wasn’t for her cough. It was…No Baby?
He tried to think. He couldn’t think. What had Kir-Tuko said? He didn’t want to know. The bottle of blue liquid burned in his memory like a bright blue star. It hurt him to think it was there. Her stomach hurt. Her stomach hurt. She didn’t want it. He’d told her to eat it. He told her it would make her better. Auntie Hurga…Hurga…told her it would make her better. Better.
His head was spinning again. He thought he might throw up again. Somehow it was all he wanted to do and yet somehow it would disrespect the place. He tripped over…something…and fell against the wall. Dust showered down from above, from the cracks. The dried turds of a million uninvited guests were shaken loose from on high and dropped down around him, sneaking down through the cracks in the ceiling, which was really a floor, of a house that wanted to die.
He coughed in dry heaves.
“It makes my tummy hurt” cut into a place behind his eyes.
He shook his head back and forth. He wanted to vomit. He wanted to throw up all the awful he’d swallowed. Maybe he could throw up all the food he’d been given by Hurga, and maybe he could throw away the rest, the comfort, everything he’d owe to Master Noshó. This time, he punched the wall.
Then, as much from the pain of punching a wall as from all the horrible things he thought, he slid his back down the wall and cried. Dry dust rubbed against his face, making his hands like a coarse cloth. Soon, they were covered in mud made of the dust and slobber and snot and tears he cried.
“Here’s a fine one for you,” said a voice. “Come to weep over all this plight have you, rich boy?”
Jallin stopped crying then. A shadow of a child stood in the doorway. The figure was about his height, or really a little bigger. The voice was familiar.
“Well,” said the boy. Jallin heard some giggling. Apparently there were others. “Jallin?”
Jallin stood. Without thinking about it, he dusted off his clothes. He wished he’d thought about it.
“Looks like someone’s fattenin’ you up for slaughter, ain’t they?” the boy said, coming inside. “Found you a benefactor, have you?”
“Stasser?” Jallin asked.
“You remembered my name, your grace?”
“Stasser,” Jallin said, relieved. But Stasser had a look about him Jallin didn’t like. It was the lean look, the look of the raig. A couple of other children came into the house behind him. Most of them were smaller than him. New disciples, Jallin thought. “I’ve been…with my Auntie.”
“Oh, right. Hurga. How’s she doing? Still worshiping that puke pastor?”
Jallin nodded. The boys were spreading out.
“Quite the lord, aren’t we now?” Stasser said, pointing to Jallin with his knife, a rusty knife he’d pulled from behind his back. “Seems you’ve found a nice place to sleep, haven’t you?”
“These?” Jallin said, plucking at his garments. “I…these aren’t mine, Stasser. They’re gifts. In…um…honor of my mother. She died.”
One of the boys with Stasser coughed, as did another. Stasser seemed to be doing well enough though.
“Who do you think got rid of all the stuff you left here? Old Dursus paid a couple of marks to have us come walk off with your fine furnishings.”
“Stasser, Hurga moved Eja and me…. She’s taking care of us now.” He didn’t want to tell Stasser where he lived now. He didn’t much care if anything happened to Hurga, but Master Noshó was kind to him.
“Think you got a bit of dirt on your fine garments, your grace. Maybe we should take them to the river for a washing, what ya say? You can give up those good things now, or we can skin you like a fish and leave you here in this warm house. Come on, let’s have them.”
“Stasser, no. What’s the matter with you? We’re friends. We’ve always been friends.”
“Best friends. So I’m sure you’d let me share in your bounty. Let’s have them. Let’s get those boots first, and then the trousers, and the blouse. Come on, take them off.”
“Stasser, please. I can’t. I can’t.”
But Stasser was done with asking. His fellows were done with waiting. They pounced on him and held him down with astounding strength, and Stasser fell on his chest, knocking the wind out of him and nearly the rest of whatever meals he’d had.
Jallin screamed as he heard the clothing tearing. The buttons popping were like his eyes being gouged out. The sudden chill on his bare legs was the spring finding his skin torn away.
He choked as he was hit in the face and the belly several times. But all the while, as they beat him and held him and kicked him with hands and feet and whatever else they could find, all Jallin could think about was what they were taking from him, the only thing the hungry raig children cared about: his undamaged, unsullied clothes. Deep in his mind somewhere, he would have rather handed them the clothes whole than have them ripped away, cut off, destroyed.
The boys yanked the boots off his feet and were gone.
Jallin lay naked in a pile of filth, screaming and writhing in agony.
* * *
On all sides a wall of flame. Everywhere, the burning and crackling of wood and mud daubing turning black and falling in red burning ashes.
Where was he?
Eja, somewhere in the darkness of a burning house, screaming. Auntie Hurga shouting outside. Their hut was on fire. Jallin’s bed, the clean sheets, the folded clothing, everything, burning. He tried to get to Eja, but she was rolling around and writhing, unable to think about how to get free of the flames.
People shouting outside. Auntie Hurga screamed.
Jallin took Eja’s arm and led her out into a wider expanse of nightmare. All around, the walls of Master Noshó’s house burned. The big house, where he and Shi-Feo lived, burned. The greenhouse, now just a blackened skeleton, was about to collapse in on itself. Each stalk of vegetation was like a torch growing out of the ground. The wind columns were pushed over like old, neglected tombstones.
Huge figures went back and forth in Jallin’s vision, putting torches to anything in the home that wasn’t already turning into black char or glowing embers.
Eja lay on the ground. Her clothes, no her skin, no every part of her was on fire. She was dying and he couldn’t save her, he couldn’t put the fire out. His hands caught up. Now his hands were on fire and he tried to find some place to put them out, but not even the dirt put them out.
And his hands cast light on the marauders, the ones bearing torches, and he saw the face of that Mercelian and another one was the Narg guard who carried Eja home.
“Kill the Trochiabites, kill the Trochiabites. Burn everything. Burn the diseased Trochiabites.”
And Master Noshó stood near his house and watched it burn. Shi-Feo was at his feet, lying on her side; Jallin didn’t see her moving.
Jallin didn’t see Kir-Tuko anywhere. Was he dead? Where was Auntie Hurga? He heard her, but he didn’t see her anywhere, and Eja was gone now too. Had she burned up? The fire was gone now and all around Jallin was just nothing. The entire city looked like a desert, gone completely. He was alone without a house in sight anywhere.
He called out, but no one answered. He was alone. He strangely felt like he would be alone forever. Somehow, his mind told him no one was left in the world, no matter where he went, no matter how loudly he called. Everyone was dead.
No comments:
Post a Comment