A/N: Prompt: Martial Law. A conclusion of this month’s arc with a cliffhanger. I don’t know what’s in there. 979 words.

A Metal Dragon

                My mind was awhirl with questions as I set out in the small jollyboat with Isidore and Andrew. We were the only ones allowed to land on the infamous Wormhole Island. Everyone back on the Adrahar was busy; Julia was caring for the injured skipper, while Liz had to oversee the repairs. Yet perhaps now away from the belligerent society aboard that boat, I could probably gain my answers.

                “So why did we have to go after that whaling ship?” Isidore asked as soon as we were far enough from the Adrahar. “I mean, it was unnecessary to get into that boarding action.”

                Andrew was grim as he gripped an oar. “It began when Martial Law was imposed on these Isles. The military controlled much of the supplies flowing into the towns, so a lot of people turned to...poaching. The whalers just happened to be the meanest of the bunch.”

                “I don’t see why it’s a good excuse for harrying and boarding their boat,” I said. We had just escaped a reckless action that was likely to result in the deaths of several good men. Surely competition was not a reason enough to seize a ship.

                “Environmental reasons too,” Isidore piped up. He had the other oar with him, and he was just managing to keep in sync with Andrew. “Whales are rare nowadays, and a lot of the peoples here feel rather strongly about them.”

                “Besides you shouldn’t be eating whale meat in the first place. Too many toxins from what they eat,” Andrew said. He shook his head as we got nearer to the island pockmarked with deep, yawning holes. “I’d pick a meal of toxic meat rather than face whatever made those caves.”

                I could feel a pit growing in my stomach as the boat scratched the sandy bottom. “What are we supposed to do here on the island?” I asked. I had a feeling that Julia had sent us, particularly me and Isidore, to this island because she didn’t want us around. Andrew knew these waters and could get away. Isidore and I were helpless without him.

                “Get supplies. Just water mostly,” Andrew replied with good cheer as he got out to moor the boat. Did he share the same opinion with Julia? Would he try to kill me and Isidore once we were ashore? I suddenly wished that I hadn’t set aside the rifle I’d been given earlier in the day.

                As Andrew went towards a stream further up the cove, Isidore glanced at me. “There’s a cave nearby. I’m going to take a look,” he said.

                “Are you mad?” I whispered. Neither Isidore nor I had a light or rope to allow us to explore the cave. I still had yet to get any sort of brace for my perpetually uncooperative leg. Going into the cavern should have been out of the question, at least for most sane people.

                Isidore shook his head and grabbed my wrist. “It’s our chance to get away. I know we landed ourselves in a good situation: escaping a prison boat, hiding in the woods, and getting picked up by the local vigilantes. They’re good people, but I’m not getting back on the boat if Julia is going to be in charge. She’s going to make our lives miserable.”

                “But it’s dark in the cave, and where will we go?”

                Isidore’s eyes were bright. “Almira, don’t you remember the stories about dragons? Their caves don’t run as normal ones do. Somewhere, they take a twist, and lead to other destinations, sometimes on the other side of the world.”

                “We’re not dragons. We can’t escape that way!” I pointed out.

                “It’s still worth a try. We might die all the same if we go back on the boat.”

                I wished I could argue with him, but the truth in his words was all too clear. Julia Sanitre had every reason to hate us. I was a known executioner while Isidore was an active participant in many of the Oligarchy’s legal schemes. Julia’s family and people had gotten the short end of the stick for years now. If it had not been for her husband and her two cousins, she probably would have had us walking the plank as soon as she learned our names. But was trying to explore a dragon’s tunnel any better?

                “Are you two coming?” I heard Andrew call. In response I lobbed some stones into the water, to make it sound as if we were headed his way. “Alright, just the nearest cavern,” I said, pushing Isidore towards the undergrowth.

                The darkness seemed to swallow us the moment we stepped inside the mouth of the cave. I flailed for a moment in the gloom till Isidore’s hand found mine. “Stay close,” he said as we advanced slowly. I kept my feet as close to the ground as I could, trying to feel every bump and crack on the ground. Just when we rounded a bend, some footsteps sounded behind us.

                Isidore turned around first. “Andrew?”

                “What do you two think you’re doing? Don’t you know what lives in here?” Andrew said, trying to pull at my shoulders.

                “It’s just for a moment!” I blurted out. It was a lie, but I was not about to say that going back with him was no longer in our options. Just as I saw Andrew step closer to me, a rumbling sounded through the cavern, making it seem as if the very walls trembled.

                Andrew seemed to have turned to stone, while Isidore looked around. “I know that sound,” my friend said at last.

                “What is it?” Andrew asked.

                “A digger---“ Isidore began before a high pitched whine cut through the air. I only had enough time to push Isidore and Andrew to the ground before the tunnelling machine zoomed only a hand’s breadth over our heads. 

A/N: Prompt: Wormhole. A continuation of what happened last week. A segue since I don’t know what they’ll find on the island!! 1,133 words.

Desperation Landing

Only one thing was certain; that engine was out of commission. I could smell the rancid fuel in the air as the men began tossing out grappling irons to bring in the whaling boat we were accosting. Peter was shouting down the other boat’s captain, trying to make it clear that we were actually attempting a citizen’s arrest on his crew, and we were not out to steal his cargo.

“This ship has a warrant from the Fisheries Office,” the whaler’s captain slurred. “We’re allowed to do our hunting in this area.”

“Yes but your prey is protected under the laws of the sea. Or have you been under a rock these past years?” Peter replied. He didn’t have a gun with him, but he had one of those huge blades that resembled oversized machetes. The sight of it was enough to have some of the whalers thinking twice about jumping him.

The other captain laughed and spat into the water. “We’ll settle this on shore---“ he said before a report pierced the air. One of the men standing on our stern howled, clutching at his side as he fell to the deck.

                In a flash, everything was a mess of yells, blood, and iron. “Almira, get him below!” Julia shouted to me, pointing to our wounded shipmate. She turned to parry a blade headed for her head before cutting out her attacker’s legs from under him.

                I hung on to the rifle I’d been given before hurrying as best as I could to help the injured man. Hopefully after this I would be able to climb to some elevation and take some potshots at the whalers. When I reached the stern of the deck, I saw that he had dragged himself below already. “I’ll be fine little miss,” he said before the women waiting at the hatchway took charge of him.

                The deck was running red now, but I couldn’t lose my nerve. In the melee, I’d quite lost sight of Isidore. What was he using to defend himself? I pulled myself up to the lowest portion of the rigging; while it didn’t give me much height, it did at least show me where everyone’s heads were.

                As I levelled the rifle into position, I heard a shout as a body fell into the water. “Man overboard!” Andrew yelled.

                I leaned over and saw isidore swimming on the larboard side, quite far from the worst of the combat. “What are you doing?” I asked.

                Isidore motioned for me to be quiet. I could not watch what he was doing, but I definitely could hear him as he swam around to the stern of the whaler’s ship. Before I knew it Isidore was over the side, bounding up to tackle the whaler’s captain from behind. He wrestled the bigger man to the floor, and somehow got him to drop his weapon.

                “Truce, truce!” the whaler’s captain yelled as Isidore held a knife to his throat.

                “Isidore, what are you doing?” Peter roared, walking up to separate the two combatants. Suddenly he let out a cry and collapsed to the deck. I saw the whaler hold up a bloody knife before Isidore immobilized him.

                “Peter!” Julia shrieked, running to him. She had to practically leap between both ships to get to him. She nearly ripped off his shirt to see his wound. “Oh please...”

                “It’s not that deep,” Peter gasped, holding his hand to the injury.

                “There, now you’ve done it. If he dies, it will be your fault,” Isidore growled at the whaling captain.

                The grizzled man looked at me. “She fired first.”

                “To cripple your engine, you louse!” I shouted back. I was shaking now; while I was no good friend of Peter, I wasn’t about to be ungrateful for him sheltering me and Isidore. I went over to help Isidore divest our opponent of his weapon while Julia and Andrew moved Peter back to the Adrahar. The whaler had an impressive array of knives and some explosive devices on him. I was only glad he had enough sense not to use the latter.

                “We have to land. Too many men on both sides are wounded,” Andrew said once we’d confiscated the whaling ship’s ‘documents’, locked the whalers’ captain in our hold, and had Peter settled in a hammock. We were conferring below decks.

                “Where to?” I asked.

                “Wormhole Island,” one of the whalers wheezed. “It’s closest here.”

                Julia shook her head. “No. That place is cursed!”

                “Afraid of a few old wives’ tales, lady?” the whaler laughed.

                Andrew looked at Julia. “It might be Peter’s only chance.”

                Julia bit her lip as she looked at her husband, who was gritting his teeth in pain with every motion of the boat. “Take the helm, Andrew. I’ll tend to him.”

                I walked up to her. “Anything I can do?”

                “See to the supplies, make sure the bastard doesn’t get out of his chains....” Julia trailed off. I knew she wanted to say something about what Peter had done, but she bit her lip and went to taking care of him anyway.

                I went above decks to where Isidore was chatting with Andrew. “What is it with Wormhole Island anyway?” I asked them.

                “Well it’s an island full of caves. No one knows how they really got there,” Isidore replied.

                “But why the wormhole?”

                “Ever see a whole colony of worms honeycombing some soil?” Andrew chimed  in.

                “She has, she grew up on a farm,” Isidore drawled. I elbowed him for this, though I did have an idea what Andrew was talking about.

                “Well how big are the tunnels?” I asked.

                “Best you see them for yourself,” Andrew said. He handed me a scope. “You can see some of the larger tunnels from here.”

                I blinked as I focused the scope on an island we were approaching. Even from the deck I could see huge hollows and holes in the land. It was a wonder the island hadn’t collapsed yet. “What caused them?” I asked.

                “Someone dug them out,” Isidore muttered. “Like pirates or miners.”

                “Please, no pirate has time for such digging,” Andrew said. “Story has it that huge worms or insects did it.”

                “Aren’t worms said to be a sort of dragon?” Isidore asked me.

                I bit my lip, not wanting to recall the lore I’d heard about the dragons that lived outside of the valley where I grew up. “If we find bones, we’ll know,” I said.

                “Well maybe we’ll have time for that,” Andrew said as we sailed up to the island that had caves of all shapes and sizes, reaching far into the earth.

A/N: Prompt: Blue Barn. Back to Isidore and Almira’s universe. A follow-up to last week’s story.

Sorry about this, it’s my catharsis for the week....too many issues going on nationwide. 2,771 words.

Undoing

                The next morning brought hardly any wind to the Adrahar. “Thankfully we remembered to stock up on fuel,” Peter said as he switched on the boat’s motors. I couldn’t help but wrinkle my nose at the idea; out here the ships still used what my fellow soldiers and I once called ‘double-tack’, which was a compressed solid fuel made from recycling house refuse.  It ran well enough on most engines but it was definitely inferior to ‘triple-tack’, which was a much more refined and slightly less smelly version.

                Of course I made sure to keep my comments to myself about this matter. I moved from my favourite spot in the stern in favour of the boat’s bow. Here, the fumes weren’t as bad. I managed to find a seat on the deck, which was as far as I could go with my right leg dragging behind me. I noticed Julia seated further ahead, with her little girl Rhea. The mother settled for a polite nod, while the daughter gave me a brilliant smile.  Julia was a ravishing beauty with lively eyes and a strong figure. I could tell that she had once been rather fair-skinned and that her tan was a result of having been on this boat. Rhea was a miniature version of her, save for her rich brown eyes, which were more like Peter’s. She was fairer too, but perhaps it was because she was still so young.

                A puff of what seemed like mist suddenly rose less than a quarter-mile from the boat. “Mommy, Miss Almira, look!” Rhea said, pointing to it.

                Julia nodded, keeping her grip around Rhea’s waist lest she tumble into the water. “Peter, there are whales around. Careful with the speed now!” she called to the ship’s captain.

                “I saw it too. Wait, there’s more,” Peter said. “A whole pod of dolphins, actually.”

                Dolphins! I had never seen any during my short voyages around Andefalco’s larger central islands. Perhaps the fishermen’s talk was true; the dolphins and whales had been displaced to the eastern isles years ago, but whether it was for lack of food or some other more malevolent cause, no one could really be certain. Before I could ask either Peter or Julia about it, I heard a shout from the other people milling about on deck. I turned to the right in time to see several dolphins leaping and somersaulting as they approached our boat.

                “Isidore, you don’t want to miss this!” I heard Andrew yell even as he found a seat near the bow of the boat. “Those dolphins are going to ride our bow wave.”

                “Ride what?” Isidore asked, emerging from below decks.

                I pointed to the wave being formed by the boat cutting through the water. “That.”

                “There’s enough pressure somewhere there for a dolphin or two to ride along,” Julia explained. “Oh Rhea, look!” Sure enough there were three or four dolphins playfully flitting about near the bow. After a while they continued their course parallel to ours, clearly being pushed along by our boat’s wave. Other dolphins were swimming along too, but further away from our bow wave. Perhaps they would try to cut in and have their share of fun too.

                “I’ve never seen anything like it,” Isidore whispered as he sat behind me. “These creatures are wonderful, almost like out of a story. No wonder there are laws to protect them."

                "Protect them? Were they ever in trouble?" I asked.

                He nodded. "Their numbers used to be fewer, but I hear they’re coming back....it’s wonderful. Nothing like this back in Setumen City.”

                “City boy,” I teased him. I was in awe too of what I’d seen so far on this adventure, but Isidore was like a child in the way he asked and investigated everything. Maybe living in the Oligarchy’s sterile offices didn’t agree with him as much as we thought.

                He laughed as he rolled up his sleeves. “You lived in the city too for what, five years?”

                “Yes, but I remember home,” I said. “The West valley, that ‘Jeweled Crescent’ as you call it.”

                “The land of dragons.”

                “Where we paint our highest barns blue so they blend in with the sky.”

                “Blue barns?” I realized that Julia was now looking at us, clearly surprised by what I’d said.  

                I nodded. “In the valley we have to keep our food stores high up in case the rivers flood. But that just means that bandits can pick out the barns too easily, especially if they are positioned on a hill. So as a precaution we use a special paint on the barns so that they seem to be nothing but blue against the sky, both by day and by night. You would have to come very close to see the difference, and by then other....preparations would have come into play.” There was no need to detail the fences and traps that were used to keep intruders away at that distance.

                Julia nodded as she used her free hand to adjust the yellow shawl she had around her shoulders. “Will you excuse me for a moment?” She got to her feet and motioned for Rhea to follow her.

                The child dawdled though and looked at me and Isidore. “Are you together?” she asked.

                “Together? What do you mean?” Isidore asked first.

                “Like my Mamma and Papa. Like that,” Rhea said. Her face was alight with that sly grin only children could get away with.

                I nearly started at this. What was I to say? Isidore and I had been intimate together several days ago, but that was only a single occasion. I could not decide yet if that was a moment of weakness or something more. “Well we are friends,” I said after a moment.

                Rhea shook her head as she went over and climbed into my lap. Her fingers were still a little sticky from her breakfast. “He likes you,” she said in a whisper that was anything but subtle.

                “No he does not!” I replied. Isidore was a dreamer, and certainly a little rash. He wasn’t stupid enough though to like someone who once had license to kill him.

                The little girl looked at Isidore. “Do you like her?”

                Isidore leaned in. “Can you keep a secret, Rhea?”

                The child nodded enthusiastically. “Please, please tell!”

                “May I borrow Rhea for a moment?” Isidore said. He scooped her up from my lap and led her off to the center of the ship.

                I caught sight of Andrew laughing. “She’s always like that. Don’t let it bother you.”

                “A lot of children are,” I said. By then the dolphins had left, perhaps to feed or amuse themselves elsewhere. The fumes were much less overwhelming now, and I decided to go below decks.

                Julia was in the galley, talking to Liz. “May I please ask a question?” I asked after politely making my presence known.  

                “About the blue barns?” Liz said.

                “Yes. You seemed surprised by them.”

                Julia nodded. “A blue barn in this part of the world is an execution house. I thought you, a soldier, would have known that.”

                I shuddered. How could I have forgotten that? “I have never been near those. My...detail was different. I was on the boats,” I replied.

Back when I’d been in the Oligarchy’s vanguard, I’d been assigned to execution barges, which were nothing really more than venues for either firing squads or making people walk the plank. I had been told by some of the older men that this was a relatively easy fate compared to being delivered to the ‘restitution houses’, the very same blue barns that Julia was referring to. It was a rather sick name, unless one counted death by electricity as a means of making amends.

Liz excused herself, while Julia simply stood still. Her face was pale when she met my eyes. “Peter told me. You were an executioner too.”

I swallowed hard. This was not a woman who could accept the time-worn excuse of ‘I was following orders’. I had to pick my words carefully. “I made a mistake.”

One of her eyebrows shot up. “What mistake?”

“I thought that this sort of justice was right.”

She crossed her arms. “Many of the people you killed were from the Eisto, your own tribe. They had green eyes, like you.”

“I know.” I couldn’t say that harsh sentences were completely undeserved; many people from the Jeweled Crescent resorted to violent thievery and other clandestine means to make a living when their desired occupations in the cities somehow fell through. I might have gone that way too if my older brother had not insisted on living an upstanding sort of life. Yet the Eisto were not the only thieves in Andefalco; the prisons were crammed with members from the other tribes and even the fallen aristocracy. However it was becoming known that a prisoner’s possessing green and angular eyes, or even a slight lisp, was enough to sway some judges’ decision in favour of the morbid outcome.

Julia took a step as the boat pitched slightly. “Now though? What do you think?”

Oh why did she have to put me on the spot? “I wouldn’t wish death on anyone, especially in that manner,” I said as calmly as I could.

“But how could you do it?” Julia asked. “All those people, innocent and guilty....”

 I gritted my teeth. Most of all, I wished that I had no part in the matter, that I could banish every shriek and imploring faces that now paraded through my memory. “If you had been in my position, holding a gun but with a bayonet poking your back, what would you have done?” I asked her.

She swallowed hard at my question. “Did that really happen to you?”

“More times than you know.” I waited for her to give me a reply, but she merely nodded and whispered something before quitting the galley. I waited for her footsteps to fade before hurrying back above decks.

It was so much easier to think out there, in the wide open air. The deck was abuzz; many of the men were helping Andrew with a little carpentry work, some of the women were repairing sails, and the children were running about tossing a ball between them. I found my spot again by the bow, just to get away from any prying questions from the rest of the ship.

Was it anyone’s fault really? I could almost hear my long-gone sires speaking as they used to, during long nights huddled against the roaring mountain rains. They had said that the Jeweled Crescent and the Eastern Isles had once, been separate lands from the Republic of Andefalco. The peoples there had once been free to go their own ways. That had been before excursions were made to mine the mountains in the valley, and the Andefalcans began sending boats into the Eastern waters. In a few years, the Andefalcans laid claim to these lands, whether by simply buying everything out, or in the case of the Jeweled Crescent, through covert invasions. Soon the mountains and the seas were depleted, giving no choice for people but to move to the towns.

“They poison our lands, and when we have no choice but to go to the city, the very air poisons us,” my brother Alexander had said when we’d first come to the city. Where was he now? Was he still working the docks with our friend Darius? Or had he been put in prison for my transgressions: my failure to kill the people on the last barge I’d been on, and for letting Isidore go free?

I heard a step near me. I didn’t have to look up to know who was there. “Almira? What’s happened?” he asked as he sat next to me.

“I was just thinking.” I hugged my knees closer to me, and I felt my leg twinge a little bit.

“About what?” Isidore asked, helping me stretch out my leg. His touch was warm on my skin, enough for me to crave it in a way I did not dare to voice out in public. 

“Everything. The past few days....the fact that I killed so many people before that day on the barge,” I said. “I want to leave the city. Forever. But where would I go? I can’t go back, to the city, or even to the Crescent. They know I killed so many of my own people.”

“Under orders,” Isidore said gently.

“They can smell the blood on me.” My eyes felt hot, but I was not going to cry in front of this lot. “Here in the East, they know me too. As a killer. I can’t go anywhere.”

“That’s not true,” Isidore said more adamantly. I felt one of his hands close around mine, while his other hand lifted my chin. “I promised you. We’ll get you walking again properly. They are looking for an assassin with a gun and a limp. You won’t be that, forever.”

                I held my breath as our eyes met. I had once associated grayness with steel and rain, death and water---but never with warmth. Not till that moment he looked at me. “You don’t know how it is to kill,” I said.

                “I do. I used to sign execution orders too,” he whispered. “I could have turned away earlier.”

                “What turned you?” I asked.

                “Who, you mean. Four people,” Isidore said. “Theodore and Meritonas, of course. My former colleagues. I wonder where they are now too.”

                I felt a pit grow in my stomach on hearing their names.  These two brave men were barristers too, but they knew from the get-go that the Oligarchy was not entirely the benevolent entity it presented itself to be. They had been branded ‘dangerous’ and ‘radical’ at different times. Last I’d heard of them, they’d been sent to work in border towns, perhaps to contain their influence. Maybe they were also in trouble too. 

                “You think we will find them again?” I asked.

                “Maybe. Soon.” He bit his lip, and I knew he had meant to say the word ‘alive’.  “I’d love to tell them too about Alexander. And about you.”

                I managed a smile. “I understand about Alexander. He’s a good man. But me?”

                Isidore leaned his forehead against mine. “You gave me a second chance.” 

  His lips brushed against mine, sending a warm thrill throughout my body. I pulled him closer, wanting more of this sweetness. His hand was in my hair again, tangling the strands between his fingers. Something about this felt more pure than the night we’d spent together on the cliffs. Just as the need for air became too great, I heard a shout coming from the starboard side of the Adrahar.

“Blood in the water,” Isidore said under his breath. I rushed over and saw a trail of crimson against the blue. I followed it with my eyes and saw a dark blue carcass floating in the water. Two more were bobbing up and down a short distance away.  Some of the children shrieked on seeing this, forcing their parents to cover their eyes.

“Damned fisheries,” Peter swore. “They do this supposedly to protect their fishing grounds against ‘competition’ from the whales.”

Liz pointed to a large boat where men were hauling in large shapes from the water. “There they are, not even a quarter mile distant. Will we....”

“Take them in? We have to, we’re the only boat in these parts,” Peter said. “Get the children below. Every hand who can help in a boarding party, come up.”

“Isn’t this being a vigilante?” I asked.

Isidore gave me a bitter smile. “Almira, the Oligarchy police protect the fisheries.”

“If they catch us, we’re going to find ourselves on another execution barge!”

“I hope you’ll be able to cut me loose again. I’d do the same for you.”

Julia emerged, carrying what I recognized to be a rifle. She thrust it into my hands. “Use this well. Or I’ll shoot you in the back myself,” she warned.

“What am I going to do?” I asked.

“Cripple their outboard engine. Good thing that double-tack fuel degrades easily, so it won’t really pollute the water,” Peter replied. We had changed course now, and we were fast approaching the whaling boat. “Get the grapples ready. Isidore, you lead the party from the stern. Andrew will take charge from the bow.”

I could now see the men on the boat pointing to us. Someone ran to the cabin,  clearly set on taking the boat further away. I hurried to the stern to position my gun. Even if my leg burned with the effort of crossing the boat, I knew this was my only chance of getting a clean shot. I managed to set the gun on the rail of the Adrahar and cock it just as the whaler began to turn tail.

“Almira, now!” Julia shouted.

I took a deep breath and squeezed the trigger, for the first time aiming to do anything but kill. 

A/N: Prompt: Bag of Root Vegetables. Indulging an obsession here with the nautical world. I’m returning to the characters of Peter and Julia....and explaining more about their world, at least as seen from Almira’s point of view in 2002 words.

Written to celebrate the first rain in a very long and hot summer. Agua De Mayo in real life refers to a folk belief that the first rain of May is good for you.

The shanty that Peter sings is called “The Common Sailor”, which I got at sailorsongs.com

Agua De Mayo

“I can’t believe such boats still exist out here!”

“Not all of the Oligarchy’s technology gets to the border towns, I guess.”

 Isidore laughed in disbelief as he looked at the tall, soaring masts above us. “It’s just so unreal. At home, my cousin and his minions are unwinding and using people’s genetic make up. But here, the boats still have to harness the wind and go by lamplight---“

“On some days, Isidore,” a curt voice said from the helm. “The Adrahar is not totally lacking in modern amenities.”

I had to stop from laughing out loud at Isidore. It had been three days since we’d been rescued, half dead, on the eastern shores of the Andefalcan wilds. I could only count ourselves lucky that we’d been found by some merchant sailors, instead of the numerous patrol boats who were surely searching for the Oligarchy’s newest fugitives. Until recently, I’d been of the Oligarchy’s vanguard, an assassin and executioner in training. Isidore had been a barrister, a promising candidate for the next Oligarchy magistrate. It had taken a few incidents (more on Isidore’s part) to put us on the wrong side of the law.

Only now, far away from my pursuers, could I dare to breathe again. It was truly another world this far away from the city. There were no magnetic trains and skiffs about. There was some electricity, I heard, but no one erected huge signboards and complex infrastructure that required so much power. The people here spoke with louder voices, perhaps to be heard over distances. Then of course there were the ships, the beautiful vessels that plied this side of the land.  

Even for a boat that was subject to the roaring seas in this part of the country, the Adrahar was truly a beautiful ship, built a little like the frigates of days gone by. Every line of her was well painted and sealed, and the railings on its two small decks were gracefully carved, unlike the ruder metalworking that characterized the military ships I used for transports not so long ago. The living quarters were rather spare, since the majority of the space was being used to stow various goods to be traded at the coastal towns. In fact, the ship’s captain actually slept in a small cabin on the ship’s quarterdeck, while the small crew lashed their hammocks at one end of the lower deck.

“Where are we headed for?” I asked the captain, who was still at the helm.

“The town of Citalis,” Peter replied. He was a little bit older than me and Isidore; he had said that he’d been sailing since he was a twelve year old boy. He was a pleasant looking fellow, with closely cropped dark hair, a ruddy complexion, and slightly rugged features.

“Citalis....a citadel town?” Isidore asked.

“You have that right,” Peter replied, glancing up from his compass. “The town has been under some siege by Oligarchy regiments for some months now, but we have business to conduct in the area. We’ll arrive there by nightfall.”

Isidore scratched his head. Out here in the wild he was looking less like the bookish barrister I’d met back in the city, and more like a roguish young traveller. “I noticed that names in this part of the country are a little simpler,” he said.

“What do you mean?” Peter asked, furrowing his brow slightly.

“Well, you’re named Peter, you said your wife is named Julia, and your daughter is Rhea.”

“What about it?”

“Your cousins are named Andrew and Liz,” Isidore said, jerking his thumb to the lower deck. The captain’s cousins were two members of the crew, and were currently resting after having been on watch all night.

“Our naming customs aren’t as flamboyant as yours,” Peter said. “But Almira, you said you weren’t born in the city?”

“I used to live in the Western mountains,” I said. There, a lot of people’s names started with the letter ‘A’. In fact, my brother’s name was “Alexander”, and we had cousins named “Aleera” and “Alisande”. Old fashioned names were common too; we even had a neighbour named Darius. Yes, I definitely preferred the naming customs of the East.

A step sounded on the hatchway near the deck. “Message came from the city,” Andrew said as he emerged with a piece of paper. He was taller and skinnier than Peter, and had hair that was the color of ginger.

“What message is it? “ Peter asked.

“Check the bag of root vegetables.”

Peter raised an eyebrow. “The one the trader gave us yesterday?”

“That one. The same man who said to wait for the ‘agua de Mayo’.”

The words were startling, for they were in an old tongue. This referred to the first rain that would fall in the last month of summer. Well, it had yet to come, and it wasn’t likely to considering the brutal heat.  

Peter seemed lost in thought for a moment before he turned to us again.” Isidore, could you help Andrew bring it up?”

“I can help,” I volunteered.

“Not with that leg of yours; you’ll trip dragging it up,” Peter said. “But I’ll need your pocketknife for the task.”

I cursed as I looked down at my still weak limb. Onboard the Oligarchy ships, where I was a sharpshooter, this leg was not a problem. In a decidedly rougher world it was nothing but a burden. “What do you need my knife for?” I asked Peter as I handed him my knife.

“To check the vegetables,” Peter said. In a few moments Andrew and Peter had brought up a large sack that bulged most curiously. “Andrew, take the helm. I have to do this myself.”

                “Maybe he’s smuggling something in the vegetables,” Isidore joked in a theatrical voice as he helped lay down the sack.

                “I don’t do that,” Peter said, pulling a carrot out of the bag. He then sliced it in half and inspected both pieces. “One red mark.”

                “How did that get there?” Isidore asked. When I peered over, there was a small square in the center of the carrot.

                “If we told you, we’d have to kill you,” Andrew said with a grin akin to that of a shark.

                I peered into the bag, which was filled with every shape and size of potatoes, carrots, and yams. “What will you do with all these vegetables once you’re done cutting them?”

                “Make them into stew,” Peter said. “There will be more than enough people to eat it, soon enough.”

                By the time Peter was through, there were thirty vegetables that had red flags in them. “Ten potatoes, fifteen carrots, and fifteen yams,” he counted.

                “Will they all fit here?” Andrew asked.

                “They will. We have to make it quick when we let people aboard for the stew, we can’t have any interlopers,” Peter said, lowering his voice. “

                “Let people aboard? You’re going to the city to feed people?” Isidore asked.

                Peter smiled as he handed me back my pocketknife. “You could say that.”

                “This ship is weird,” Isidore muttered. I knew better than to ask questions, so I quickly excused myself from the quarterdeck.

                We spoke nothing more of it, until nightfall. As the sun set, Andrew hoisted a lamp towards the bow of the boat before leading Isidore and the rest of the crew in rigging up pulleys and gangways. As for me, I was set to assist Liz, a sturdy woman with golden hair, in the ship’s galley.

                “We usually boil these up together with chilli and beans to make it last a little longer,” Liz explained as soon as we’d cut all the vegetables into smaller chunks and then put them in a pot. “We’d put some fish in here too, but the sea has been a little affected by this heat.”

                “But what sort of people do you feed?” I asked.

                Her lovely smile turned cryptic. “Whoever knows how to find us.”

                All of these enigmas were proving to be maddening, yet I bit my lip. I was accustomed to not asking too many questions for safety’s sake. As I wiped my hands on my pants, I caught a whiff of the sweet smell of fresh water in the air.

                “It’s going to rain,” I said.

                “Nonsense, I just left the water supply open,” Liz said, moving to cover the water pot.

                “No, Liz, look,” I said, pointing to the window. Drops of rain slashed through the air, making small ripples on the inky dark sea.

                Footsteps sounded overhead. “Liz, we’re about to dock in Citalis!” Andrew called from the doorway of the galley.

                “Yes, and now we have agua de Mayo,” Liz replied.

                “I know,” Andrew said, in a tone that reminded me of a schoolboy. “The crew is almost ready to bathe in it.”

We all went up onto the deck, where everyone had already lined up vessels and jars to catch the rain. The other men on the ship were washing their hair and pounding out their shirts in the rainwater. Peter, who till now was at the helm, was singing an old mariner’s song:

“Don't you call us common sailors anymore 
Don't you call us common sailors anymore 
Good things to you we bring 
Don't you call us common men 
We're as good as anybody that's on shore.”

Isidore was up in the rigging and smiling much in the same way he used to when we were still in the city. “You don’t want to miss this. It’s supposed to be good for your health. You bathe in this, you won’t get sick for a year,” he called to me.

“I thought you didn’t believe in old wives’ tales,” I shot back.

“Better than believing in nothing.”

I laughed as I went towards the bow to watch as the ship steered into a tiny harbour. After a while I caught sight of a group of people huddled on the quay. A young woman stepped forward and waved to us, as if signalling to the captain. A little girl stood next to her, clutching her skirt.

“That’s Julia,” Peter said with a grin. “And Rhea is with her.”

“When was the last time they were with us?” Liz asked.

“A month ago, when we made that short trip to the Eastern isles,” Peter replied. Soon the Adrahar was moored to the dock and the gangways were run out for the people to board the ship.

Peter met Julia at one of the gangways and practically lifted her off her feet in a hug. “I got your message about the refugees,” he said to her.

“How long ago?” she asked after giving him a kiss.

“Yesterday.”

“Daddy, what about me?” Rhea chirped as she tugged at her father’s shirt.

“Of course I didn’t forget you,” Peter said, reaching to help her climb onto his shoulders.

I had to step away from this lovely family scene before too much moisture prickled at my eyes. I felt Isidore tug at my sleeve. “Almira, look at the people,” he whispered.

I counted. Ten men, fifteen women, and fifteen children had boarded the Adrahar. They would be sailing with us, but to where, I did not know. How could Peter, his family, and his crew take such risks?

I realized after a few moments that Julia was looking at me and Isidore. “What are they doing here?” she asked Peter.

“They’re friends,” Peter replied.

“Them? Friends? You know who they worked for---“

“I’ll explain it later, Ju,” Peter said firmly, making it clear that he did not want to discuss this matter in front of all the refugees. “I have tea for us in the cabin.”

Julia nodded suspiciously. “Fine then.”

Peter managed a relieved smile. “Get the stew served out,” he told me and Liz. He tapped Isidore on the back. “And start bringing in the gangplanks. The less time we spend ashore, the better.”

We lost no time in obliging. 

A/N: Prompt: Evolution. In which some friends go out for drinks some time before a wedding. In  748 words.

The Natural Course of Things

                “We all sort of thought that you and Lila would be the first.”

                Ron smiled sardonically at us as he slammed down his beer bottle on the kitchen counter of the Guevaras’ house. “Yeah, you all know how that ended. Not even a year after we finish college and the whole thing is out of the water.”

                Next to me, Wena raised an eyebrow as she sipped her martini. “What happened anyway? Neither of you really went into details.” Not like we could ask one of them anyway; Lila had been out of town for the past few years, and she was only planning to come into town tomorrow, on the morning of our friends’ wedding.

                “She said I wasn’t ready. Whatever that means,” Ron mumbled. “What was she waiting for me to do, evolve into Superman?”

                Thanks to this, I felt my tequila go right up my nose. “Got the suit under that shirt of yours?” I finally said when I could breathe again.

                “Very funny, Darren,” Ron said, elbowing me.

“I did find it weird that she wanted to get married so quickly, like even before passing the engineering boards,” Wena chimed in.  She picked the olive out of her drink and ate it in one go. “So Darren, any commitment ceremony coming up in your future?”

                I shook my head. This question was beginning to get old. “Not going to happen for as long as I’m here in Manila.”

                “You could have your own private I-do,” Wena pointed out. “Have a big bash like it’s the end of the world all over again.”  

                “Like it’s 2012,” I said, getting my tequila again.

It had been four years since those anxious days, but the mark of that time was still on us. Life since the supposed ‘end of the world’ was something of a blur, what with everyone marrying, moving, and procreating left and right. I guess there’s nothing like a threatened Apocalypse to get the world to speed up a little.  

Ron picked up what was left of his beer just as someone stepped into the kitchen. “Couldn’t sleep, Marce?” he called to the newcomer.

“My usual insomnia,” Marce said as she went to the refrigerator to get a bottle of apple juice. I had to blink several times; when Marce was in pajamas, it was difficult to imagine her in a wedding dress, which was what she would be wearing in a matter of hours.

Wena shook her head. “Pre-wedding jitters. Admit it.”

Marce’s lips quirked upwards. “You could say that.”

“Aw come on, you’ve been practically engaged for years now,” Ron said. “You can’t be jittery about being with him!”

“It’s going to be different after tomorrow,” Marce said. She gestured to the kitchen. “Moving out of my sister’s house and into a new apartment, having to actually split bills and responsibilities...” She took a long swig of her bottle of juice and bit her lip.

“Not to mention having to put up with each other’s bad habits,” Wena snickered. “Like leaving the toilet seat up.”

Marce rolled her eyes. “What I get for having a fiancé who has three brothers and no sisters.”

“You know something?” I said. “If I told you guys nine years ago, when we all met, that this would be happening, you would have laughed and told me to shut up.”

“Us having drinks together, or Marce actually getting married?” Ron said.

“The second. The first happened all the time,” Marce replied. “Now who’s going to be next?”

Wena held up her hand. “Sorry, no ring on this finger yet.”

I thumped her shoulder. “I should introduce you to some of the guys at work.”

“Darren, I’d like to meet someone who does not share the same taste in boys as I do.”

Now this time it was Ron and Marce’s turn to nearly choke on their drinks. “Time to find new hunting grounds,” Ron said as he wiped his mouth.

“You’re making me sound like some cat on the prowl,” Wena said.

“As long as you don’t go after a guy who’s younger than you by ten years or more, you’ll be fine,” Marce replied.

“That is called desperation,” Wena shot back.

“Necessary adaptation, when the pickings get slim,” I said.

“You make it sound like the species is going to die out,” Marce replied.

“You never know,” I said. After all, who knew with the next prediction of the end times?

A/N: Prompt: Transmogrify. I’m currently cursing Darren’s overactive imagination. Oh, and Colin is a Troper. I wasn’t expecting this! 228 words of these boys goofing off.

Attention Deficit Creators

“I forgot the exact term for it, but I think you’re turning into one of those ADHD creators....”

“The term is Attention Deficit Creator.”

The thespian snorted as he pulled his chair closer to his boyfriend’s desk. “Well okay. You’re helping a start-up business, trying to get a paper published, researching on social enterprises, and holding down your job. Are you even planning to sleep this month?”

Colin looked up from the chart he was arranging before scratching at the highlighter stains on his hands. “Some time.” He gestured to the stacks of folders and papers on his desk. “I’ll get this done soon. You’ll see.”

“Don’t tell me you plan to catch up on sleep when we’re in London,” Darren said. He frowned, realizing that his tone sounded a little like whining. He smoothed down his oversized lapels before leaning in to rest his chin on Colin’s shoulder. “Anyway you promised we’d have fun. Go to the Globe, watch all the plays we want, and basically just geek out. I don’t want you spending our entire vacation sleeping.”

“Isn’t that the point of going away?” Colin asked, earning him a withering glare. “Darren, I was kidding!”

“I  imagine you as a Hydra,” Darren retorted petulantly. “One head for each project or thing you’re doing. You’re getting to that point.”

“I will pretend I did not hear that attempt at transmogrification, Darren-chan.” 

A/N: Prompt: Mature. In which Darren has to keep one of his better schemes moving. 1,104 words

The Only Love Gods

2009

“Don’t you think that this scheme of yours is a little harebrained, Darren-chan?”

The slender thespian shook his head, even as he smiled quite obviously at the endearment. “I studied the feasibility of it, Colin. Of course it’s going to work,” he said, leaning in closer so that he would be heard over the dance music blaring through the hall.

Colin rolled his eyes before wiping his sweaty forehead. It was all he could do to keep a straight face at his boyfriend’s cocky tone. “You don’t have to use managerial terms around me,” he said with a laugh.  

“Well I like speaking your language.”

This time it was Colin’s turn to shake his head. Leave it to Darren to use the same parlance that Colin had to deal with every day in his classes. “Thanks for that. But still, you’re trying to push together two of the most stubborn people we’ve ever met. Do you honestly think that’s going to work?”

“It will,” Darren said, throwing his arm around Colin’s shoulders. Colin had to adjust a little for this; he was a little taller than Darren, not to mention significantly more rotund. Thankfully they were sitting down, so it was easy to manage this feat.

“I’ve already gotten the two of them to stop trying to kill each other. All I have to do is nudge them into each other’s arms,” Darren added in a conspiratorial whisper.  “Now don’t tell me it’s impossible. You used to say that the two of us getting together was impossible, but look where we are now.”

“I only said that since it’s not easy being in a relationship when we’re in different schools.”

Darren smirked even as he leaned on Colin's shoulder. “You didn’t give up on me. Of course something was bound to happen, right?”

“Right,” Colin mumbled, ruffling Darren’s hair. It was always nice to feel Darren's silky hair againsth is hand. “But that doesn’t mean I really think your plan is going to work out.”

“We’re beating the odds so that makes us the only love gods!” Darren exclaimed. He looked around and clapped Colin on the back. “Come with me. I need you to help me make this work.”

“Darren, come on!” Colin protested even as he let Darren yank him to his feet. He groaned when he realized that he was being dragged to a booth in the corner of the bar. A slender young woman was seated there, observing the dance floor with a pensive expression on her face.

“Hello M!” Darren greeted, sliding himself and Colin into the booth.

Marce gave them an acknowledging nod. “Where have you two been?” she said amiably by way of greeting. “Emil went off to the washroom, but he’ll be back in a few minutes.”

“Well it’s you we came here to talk to,” Darren said.

Colin elbowed him surreptitiously. “Nice beginning,” he mumbled.

Marce raised one eyebrow. “Something going on?”

Colin had to hold back his chuckles. It was really time to edge things along if only to help Darren save face. “Well we were just wondering about well, your love life....” he stammered.

“You mean lack thereof,” Marce said quickly. “Why is it that everyone keeps asking about it? I’m only nineteen years old.”

“It’s not age,” Darren said. “It’s because of him.”

“There you go,” Colin thought when he saw Marce sigh deeply, a sure sign that she’d been caught.  It was actually fairly easy, even for him, to decipher what was behind the woman’s sudden predisposition to silent musing. Even Marce's usually cool composure could not save her now. 

“He means a lot to me,” she said at last. “More than I thought he ever would.”

“Well, that makes life so much easier,” Darren said.

“Easier?”

“He’s already in love with you.”

Marce laughed wryly. “I’m not ready for love, Darren. Not mature enough. I mean.” She paused to sip her iced tea again. “I still want to do things, I still want to go to law school, make a career for myself...”

“Just because you have plans, that doesn’t mean you have to write him out of the equation entirely,” Colin chimed in. “I mean, just look at me and Darren. I want to be a manager of a big company, he’s aiming for West End, but we’ll make it work.” It made him feel good to talk about the future, however far off and fanciful it seemed. Somehow, he believed it was part of willing it into being.

A quick glance at Darren’s bemused expression was enough to reassure him that he was on the right page. “He dreams enough for both of us, and more,” Colin thought as he listened to Darren once again trying to convince Marce that she was indeed ready to pursue a relationship with the man she had fallen for. He watched, entranced too as Darren’s arguments gradually brought a certain light to his friend’s eyes, and made her lips start to quirk upwards. No other man in their world had such a gift to make words into realities.

“You’re telling the truth, I hope?” Marce said after a while. “If I ask Emil about it, and he tells me something different, I’m never forgiving you.”

“Cross my heart, hope to die,” Darren said. “Right, Colin?”

“I can’t believe you just put your honor on the line,” Colin thought. Nevertheless he managed a smile. “If he’s wrong, feel free to hang him by the ears."

“You’re unkind,” Darren said, faking a pout.

“That will be the least you deserve,” Colin retorted. He waved to a tall man approaching the table. “Hey Emil! Took you long enough.”

“There was a queue for the rest room,” Emil said. He glanced at Darren. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing. I think Colin and I will go off now,” Darren said innocently.

“Nah, you guys can stay here if you like,” Emil replied. He smiled warmly at Marce. “Want to dance?”

Finally Marce’s smile reached her eyes. “Yes,” she said, taking his hand.

Darren crowed triumphantly as he watched his friends go to the dance floor. “What did I tell you?” he said enthusiastically. 

“You’re a lucky bastard, you know that?” Colin said, pulling Darren close.

“Lucky enough to have you.”

“Yeah, say that until the moment Marce realizes you’ve just talked her into a fiction?”

Darren shook his head adamantly. “I know my men, okay? You have to trust me. You saw the way he looks at her .”

“Fine.”

“By the way Colin?”

“Yeah?”

Darren smiled before kissing him. “Thanks for the help.”

For once, Colin found he could not disagree.

A/N: Prompt: Germinate.

Returning for this month: Darren and a friend of his. 412 words

Garage Sale

                “I’m selling it for sixty, that’s my last price.”

                “Hannah, I’m sure you could live with forty.”

                “What, are you trying to cheat me, Darren?”

                “Fine, fifty. I know you need to get rid of these anyway.”

                The ex-thespian rolled her eyes, knowing she’d been defeated. “Alright, but don’t expect this luck every time you go to one of these sales,” she said. She carefully lifted one of the smooth glasses to show off a face engraved on one side, highlighted with a frosted finish. “You don’t get glasses like these just anywhere. You take care of them, okay?”

                Darren nodded as he took the glass to inspect it for a moment before handing it back. He ran his hand through his hair, which was growing out past his ears. “I definitely will. Six of them, right?”

                “Yeah. What do you want them for anyway?”

                “Oh something. You might see one day,” the young man replied, digging in his pocket for the required amount of money.

                Hannah snorted. “More likely to keep some worthless company,” she thought. She would have kept the glasses for herself, for that same purpose, but she could not trust that the glasses would be whole when she unpacked them across the ocean. Instead, she carefully wrapped each shining glass with tissue paper and nestled them snugly in a box.  A quick exchange was left, and it was done.

                “I’ll take care of them,” Darren said, carefully adjusting his hold on the box.

                “You’d better!” she said. She sighed as she watched him go off to talk to more friends who were milling about the garage sale. “This is how it feels to sell something, “ Hannah thought. She had those glasses since her eighteenth birthday. It had been eight years since then, and she had little cause for revelry nowadays.

                She did not think of the glasses, not until two weeks later, when she knew she had to say her goodbyes. She had her suitcase in hand as she ran up to Darren’s flat and knocked. “Are you here?” she asked.

                He opened the door immediately. “Hannah? I thought you’d gone.”

                “Not till seven o’clock tonight,” she said. She noticed a flash of green in her friend’s flat. “Is that what I think it is?”

                Darren shrugged sheepishly. “I needed someplace to grow them.”

                Hannah laughed in disbelief on seeing the small sprouts in the shot glasses, looking like green spiked hair glistening in the afternoon light. 

A/N: Prompt: Strike.

A completely new bit, experimenting with stream of consciousness. I know, I know, I have a lot of threads ongoing, but I just happened to get really moved and sucked back down memory lane while listening to an old favourite song of mine.  

Compelled

                I am much too busy to take a part in this weekend’s performance.  I have much to do in the coming hours such as rustling up lunch, setting up equipment for the afternoon’s talks, and plotting an obstacle course for the next day’s team exercises. Nevertheless I keep one ear trained on the ongoing rehearsal, listening to my friends as they go over the parts again and again. First in fragments, then as a whole, then to the music---that’s how these rehearsals always go. Everything is disorganized at first; people are laughing too much and our unofficial director looks as if she’s going to lose her temper at the rowdiest of the group. But it’s all going to be okay; it’s part of what happens during these weekend camps. Can anyone expect any less of a bunch of teenagers getting together for nearly seventy-two hours? Or rather, can anyone expect any more of teenagers in these circumstances?

Even now, I can see the drama played out over and over again, as if it was already on stage right in front of me. I do not mind so much, since it’s that of the best love story I can think of.  I have never dared to write it down, even if to explain to the youngsters who must essay the parts in this little play. Perhaps I never will have to, as it’s a story that involves each life, whether the individual is aware of it or not. This is what I have been told, but more importantly, this is what I believe.

Eventually my tasks take me away from the room where my friends are rehearsing. I go past where other participants have gone off into discussion groups, and beyond a small group cleaning up the bathrooms (half-drenched by the younger campers and muddied by a sudden storm). Some other friends of mine are tuning a guitar in preparation for teaching yet another round of songs to the group. The mid-morning air is cool, the sun is bright; it’s all I can ask for on a Saturday away from home. This venue is alive today, as most places are when young people are around. Everything is hope and light, but there is still a weight in the wind.

 I know it is not from the storm that had passed over last night. The gravity is that of the unspoken. Many of us have been broken even before climbing up this mountain, and we have come here for healing, or at least to clear our minds. Then there are some who have merely followed parents’ bidding, or who have simply trailed their friends on a lark, but perhaps are in need of the same care others have sought.

The sun has begun to beat down on the mountain, making the air more cloying by the time I finish my work. By now the campers are gathering in the session hall, waiting for the play and the talk that is to follow after. I find a chair at the back of the room, and sit down to watch the skit.

A woman finds the love of her life, but is whisked away by a dashing and dangerous figure.

It is all too familiar; how many times have I been that girl in the skit, dancing between two things: loves, causes, beliefs, promises? 

Her life takes twists, turns, and an eventual spiral downwards. First it’s the glamour, then the money, then the drink and the drugs. She is reduced to a body, first to be gawked at by others, then to be resented by herself. She takes lines to her arms as each day grows bleaker.

No, that is not exactly my life. Well, I am no saint—anyone in this camp can tell you that. Yet I feel the bile in my throat on seeing the mimes, as the girl dances further and further away from her first love. I am not a drunk, not a druggie, not one for gambling or sexual depravity. Those vices have never been to my liking. Yet I know how it is to wear masks, to tell lies---whether to maintain a facade of daring to my peers, or to feign holiness.

She hits rock bottom till she summons the courage to break away and leave. Yet try as she may she cannot run; the house is barred, there are debts to pay, and her very feet are mired to the ground. There is nowhere else to go.

No, no, this is not me. I have never been in such trouble. Yet why do my memories hold a night with me crying despondently, with the cold chill of metal against her wrist?

                She has every reason to think she is abandoned, especially after the betrayal she had committed. Who after all could love someone so faithless? She is on the ground, despondent and at the end of it all, ready to succumb to the grasping hands that want her back...for what? She is bent on the floor, pathos personified.

                I clutch the sides of my plastic seat. Why does my mind recall a shattered state, when all the pretences fell apart and I was left, stripped, powerless and cowering as others berated me for my conduct? Why do I still get repeats of those days?

                That is until a familiar voice comes between her and those hands. Someone speaks for her, pays her debts, takes every blow meant for her, and then sets her back on her feet.

                 My hand goes to the wooden cross I wear around my neck before I leave the room. I may as well have been up there, in that play.