01-02
#01
Riordan marched through the marshy grounds, the dirt sticking to his boots. The grounds leading up to the the prison were destitute, the heavy grey fog hiding what atrocity took place the previous night. There was no logic for how it happened. There was no clean cut description of how some trees stood snapped in half the majority had lost their top half. There was no explanation most of all, for the state of the guards stationed at the prison
Riordan stared down as something grabbed his feet. There was a young girl--likely the daughter of an aristocrat visiting the prison (nobles had their interesting hobbies). Tears swam down her face, but no sound came out of her mouth.
On his journey, he'd seen all types of deformities. For some people, the front half of their faces melted into one big slush still dangling off their chin. For some, their faces had become like a custard; malleable, scoopable, like their skull had become a bowl filled with skin-tone ice cream. For others, their faces or body parts had been conjoined with another's.
This girl looked okay for the most part. Blood speckled her face, but she showed no signs of bodily harm, with the exception of her mouth.
The insides of her throat ballooned out of her mouth, rising and falling with each breath. Her resilience to survive for God knows how long in such a state, it was astounding. She wouldn't survive much longer though.
Riordan drew his blade, at the sight of which the girl began convulsing, drawing back and skittering away. He said a short few words on his fingertips, then touched the sword. The sword became engulfed in flames.
The girl withdrew herself, clawing dirt to escape in vain. Riordan took three strides to turn her to her back, before ending her misery. The blood that splashed on him wouldn't be noticeable by his colleagues; they'd assume he'd been inspecting the bodies. And he had been. So he continued on to the prison gate, where Catherine and about twenty other militia waited.
"Riordan." She said curtly, not turning to see her partner.
"Cath," he replied in turn.
The silence between them was tense, as neither knew what to say but knew what the other was expecting. Answers of some sort, something to make sense of it all.
"What did you find, Riordan?"
"Only the same as you."
Catherine gritted her teeth. "Now is not the time for some stringy competition Riordan. The only reward today is the lives that can be saved. But none of that can happen if you choose to withhold this from me."
Chin tilted up, Riordan gazed at Catherine through round glasses. He could see the toll of this devastation on her. More than himself. "There was a person still breathing."
Catherine paused, keeping her eyes neutral as she always had with him. "And?"
"They didn't last much longer."
Catherine breathed out slowly. "Well. This outing was, a failure. I might as well had sat in my office and recieved the pictures." Her sentences came out chopped. "I don't even know what to say Riordan. Congregate dismissed you can all go home." She turned and stalked away. Riordan got the feeling that if she were to look at him right then, he would see something in her eyes. Riordan turned and walked the other way.
#02
Market gossip weaved it's way into Manhayr's ears. The village was abuzz with news of last night's massacre. In true Lopho fashion, the small town had hundreds of explanations generated within hours of the tragedy. According to the fruits lady, the attack--which was worryingly close to home--was a government attempt to scare them into giving up their property for new developments. The street hermit proclaimed it was a sign of the end of the world.
"And what do you think, Majha?" Manhayr asked.
"I think," Majha said with a downward swing of his butchers knife, "that gossip rots the mind and dulls the hand."
Manhayr pouted, resting her head in ther forearms to avoid rubbing the blood on her face. "Majha, there is nobody here. For days' sake one break won't kill me," she whined in vain. Their shop, despite being conveniently centre of the marketplace, rarely received foot traffic. They hunted and butchered the meat themselves but their biggest customer was the palace. Once a week, a herald came with troops to haul pounds of meat away. As a result, the villagers gave them and their shop a wide berth; no one wanted the risks of being associated with them.
Majha arced the knife through the air skillfully, twisting it several times before landing the blow. This is the artsmanship that attracted Manhayr to work here. She had beheld this skill at one of the annual fairs years before and like many in the crowd, fallen in love with it. That was before the royal contract.
A jingle at the door earned her attention.
"Goodness, what's with you lot and silently suffering in the heat! You've got windows, so used them." Iroh punched her nose as she waved her hand. Her blue silk hood naturally fell from her face, her dress swishing at her feet. She watched her steps, carefully avoiding splashes of blood before setting her basket on the counter. "Hakuji Mahyr," she called.
From the kitchen, Mahyr instructed Manhayr to greet their only frequent customer. "Coming, Samse," she replied, rinsing her hands in a hurry and drying off with a cloth.
"Samsee!" She greeted her only female friend with glee, dlinging bith hands in a hug.
"Ugh, Manyr, you reek of blood, stop right there." Iroh giggled, stopping her friend in her tracks. He face turned solemn, "my dear Samse, have you heard the latest street talk?"
"Who hasn't," Manhayr plopped onto the seat beside Iroh. "When the day's done it's all talk, isn't it."
"Well, I dont know if I would say that...see what you can do to call Mahyr out."
"Is something wrong?" Manhayr frowned. Iroh never asked to see Hakuji Mahyr directly.
"Nothing, just if you would please call him out for me." She smiled tightly, tucking one strand of loose brown curls behind her ear. "And Samse, be careful walking home tonight."
Manhayr frowned, returning to the kitchen nonetheless. Mahyr opened shop at the Crack of dawn each day, when the gossips were yet to be worn down by the day's heat. "Hakuji, how much do you know about the massacre?"
Mahyr stilled. "Is Samse Iroh asking?"
"Maybe." She cocked her head.
He let loose a heavy sigh. "Do you know how to close shop?" He asked.
"I-I've watched you several times, I should have the hang of it."
"Very well then, it seems I have to get going." He grunted, slowly washing the blood off his hands and drying them with a clean towel.
A sinking, twisted feeling settled in her stomach. "Mahyr, what is this about."
Mahyr spared her not a second, as he brushed past her, parting the curtain to the main area. From the server's opening she could see, but not hear their hushed conversation. Disappointment banged her chest. Resignated, she slid the wooden covering closed and concerned herself with the meat. There she spent hours hacking away, oblivious to when Mahyr and Iroh finally left. The summer season had blessed them with an abundance of animals, and so they worked hard to cut the meat and preserve them all. It wasn't glamorous; fuelled with laser focus, Manhayr fell into a rhythmic pattern. Grab the meat chunk, slice the skin, cut the limb, throw in the salt basin. By the time she came to her senses, she had hacked through both her and Mahyr's work for the day.
Not to worry, there was still the cleanup, and disposing the basin of salted meat, which she left for last.
The storage cellar was detached from the main shop, about a five minutes uphill trek. The sun had set long ago, leaving Manhayr to walk through the bushes in the darkness. Even when she closed with Mahyr, seldom did they work so much into the night.
She had gotten carried away.
Eyeing the dark covers of night, Manhayr set the basin upon a rolled cloth on her head and began the journey. The uphill cellar was her idea. Lopho, being situated in a valley, was slightly at risk of flooding from the nearby river. In all her life never had it happened, yet the cautionist in her never stopped worrying. Now that only the moon provided light, and the trow roots gripped about her ankle sending her stumbling, regret settled in her. Huffing, she set down her tray to slump against a tree.
Leaning her head against the trunk, she couldn't help the tears that swam to her eyes at the days' events. Iroh's infatuation with Mahyr was common knowledge to Manhayr. However, Iroh was still the only person in the village associated with them. In a sense, they'd grown as family and forged a strong platonic bond. Iroh would visit the shop under disguise, or sometimes go to festivals at night with both of them. No matter the amount of begging Manhayr did, any effort to spend daylight time with her was in vain; all her love for Manhayr and Mahyr didn't stop her fear of being shunned by the village. But today...
Today she invited Mahyr herself out in broad daylight, and solidly told Manhayr that she was unwanted. Her and Mahyr treated her like a child rather than an equal. Though expected--after all, Mahyr was properly older than her, and unlike herself, Iroh was old enough to consider marriage,--it was extremely disappointing. A strange medley of emotions clogged her chest. There resided a dismal sadness, and yet guilt. She should be happy for her friend. Mahyr would make a fine husband. He could be dense at times and work oriented, but he harbored such a strong care for herself and Iroh it hardly mattered. When Manhayr had fallen ill, he had been the one to cook her porridge, buy the medicine, and close down shop at the worst of it. She guessed, she was just,
"Scared," she whispered into the night. Scared that with a wife, they would run the shop together. Scared that with a wife, she could no longer assume the position of his daughter. She sighed heavily, and listened to it echo.
.
....
She sprung up.
The forest animals take this time of the night to be their most active. The wolves howl, birds hoot, and other creatures unknown to her communicated.
"Mahyr," she asked, clutching his robes, "aren't you scared of the noises?"
"Mm, not particularly. So long as I can hear them, I know where they aren't. It's when they fall silent, that's when I must worry."
Manhayr listened closely. Not a sound. She picked the basin hastily. This was the last bin needing to be stored away. If she ran back to town, the smell would attract fearsome beasts to the shop and the meat might sour above ground. But if she didn't, God knows what sort of creature was capable of silencing and entire forest. She was close to the cellar. Upwards she trudged, her hairs pickled. The moment the basin was disposed of, she would run faster than she every has to safety.
One hand hiked up her skirts.
The other held the basin steady atop her head.
Her steps hastened.
In the darkness, she searched for the redwood sign marking the entrance. Just as she found it, as figure leapt out from the shadows of a tree.
Screaming, she fell to her bum.
The creature--a rabbit--crawled out from a brush.
The breaths caught in her chest began to release, small and chopped. Her legs shaking she got back up to her feet.
"Oh, my gosh," she whispered to herself, thinking of how much Samse Iroh and Hakuji Mahyr would owe her for sponsoring their date. While in the cellar, a thought came to her head. If Mahyr presented the question tonight, she would no longer be able to call him Mahyr or Hakuji Mahyr again.
Chills traversed her spine as she climbed out, fuelling her sadness.
"Hello, there," a voice called from above. "Sorry, did I startle you?"
Cheerful with an accent.
"Who are you?" Manhayr asked, Sweat beading on her palms. With twigs all around she should have heard the footsteps. She would have, had she not been in her head. Her brows furrowed.
"Truly, I'm sorry if I've frightened you, I only wish to speak. I-I smelled something quite good, and I'm a bit hungry."
Manhayr relaxed. It was only a child looking for food, then. He'd be disappointed to learn that had nothing for him once she emerged. "Sorry to disappoint you, I haven't any edible food. Moreover you really should be away, I've the feeling that theres fearsome beast in the woods tonight."
"Oh...really...but it smells quite nice."
"I'm not sure about you, but all I can smell is the smell of meat, and it really isn't pleasant."
"No no, it's not the meat I'm smelling," the boy said, just as Manhayr popped out of the cellar and into his view. In the split second before she noticed the rabbit with its intestines laid out, Manhayr would remember the way he looked. His hair was a colour never heard of in the entirety of Sevlumhadlem, and vibrant burnt orange colour. He wasn't a boy, rather a young man hardly older than her and toned to a fault. Though she couldn't see his eyes, the grin that spread from eye to eye had a childlike yet venomous edge to them, as though he was genuinely elated to see her. His skin was deep-deeper than her brown skin, and he was top less. When she would try to reiterate this story, she'd recall how every sense in her body screamed at her to flee, and how it all happened too fast for her to do anything. The same way fear grips her now is the same way it will every time she attempts to say what happens next. "I knew it, it is you, I was smelling you!"
